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••N:vtk'si'.    (|[    CALIFORNIA     SAhDIfljO 


3   1822  01108  6436 


The  Gospel  in  Literature 


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JOSpH  NELSON  GREENE 


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LIBRARY 

t/W'VtRSfTY  OF 

CAL'FORMIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


wiiivi.itoil  I     LIDI\rtt\l 


IIMII'rr>r>i 


""■'' "'I'liiii'iii^ii   i  III  i  11 11  III! mil II 


30 


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3  1822  01108  6436 


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THE   GOSPEL    IN 
LITERATURE 


By 
JOSEPH  NELSON  GREENE 


God  spake  In  time  past  unto  the  fathers  by  the  prophets. 

— Hebrews  1:1. 


God's  prophets  of  the  Beautiful  these  poets  were. 

— Mrs.  Browning. 


Cincinnati : 

JENNINGS     AND     GRAHAM 

l^etn  gorfe: 

EATON     AND     MAINS 


Copyright,  1910, 
By  Jennings  &  Graham 


Contents 


Page 
ENOCH  ARDEN; 

Or,  Love's  Self-Crucifixion,  9 

THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT; 

Or,  God  at  the  Fireside,  39 

GOLDSMITH'S  VILLAGE  PARSON; 

Or,  The  Saintly  Character,  69 

THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL; 

Or,  The  Sacrament  of  Daily  Service,  99 

THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON; 

Or,  Christianity's  Debt  to  the  Past,  129 

THE  ANCIENT  MARINER; 

Or,  The  Nearness  of  the  Spirit  World,  157 

SNOW  BOUND; 

Or,  Character  Formed  at  the  Fireside,  183 

SAUL ; 

Or,  The  Awakening  of  a  Soul,  211 


Preface 

Literature  and  the  gospel  are  bosom  friends. 
The  stories  and  teachings  of  the  gospel  have 
been  extravagantly  borrowed  by  literature 
and  made  to  form  an  essential  part  of  its  life. 
A  lover  of  the  gospel  should  be  a  lover  of 
literature,  for  in  the  latter  he  finds  much  of 
the  fonner.  The  lover  of  literature  should 
come  to  have  a  wholesome  regard  for  the 
gospel,  for  if  he  reads  wisely  he  sees  that 
the  latter  furnishes  much  of  the  color  and 
life  of  the  former.  The  combination  is  a  de- 
lightful one.  To  properly  appreciate  that 
combination  will  mean  to  develop  the  liter- 
ary instinct  and  to  cultivate  the  devotional 
spirit.  To  aid  somewhat  toward  this  desir- 
able end  the  following  chapters  are  pre- 
sented. 
If  these  chapters  should  encourage  preach- 

5 


PREFACE 

ers  and  religious  teacliers  to  employ  more 
freely  the  beauty  and  strength  of  literature 
in  presenting  the  gospel,  and  lead  the  gen- 
eral reader  to  a  better  appreciation  of  the 
value  of  the  combined  devotional  and  liter- 
ary spirit,  their  mission  will  not  be  in  vain. 


6 


ENOCH  ARDEN; 

OR, 

LOVE'S  SELF-CRUCIFIXION 


ENOCH  ARDEN; 

OR, 

LOVE'S  SELF-CRUCIFIXION 

English  literature  owes  a  large  debt  to 
Christianity.  Much  of  the  subject  matter 
and  many  of  the  themes  of  our  best  litera- 
ture have  their  origin  and  inspiration  in  the 
gospel  of  Christ.  Matthew  Arnold  says  that 
the  chief  object  of  religion  is  conduct,  and 
that  conduct  is  three-fourths  of  life.  This 
is  only  another  way  of  saying  that  religion 
has  to  do  with  life.  But  literature  in  its 
best  forms  has  also  to  do  with  life.  It  is 
not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  Christian 
religion  and  literature  are  mutually  helpful. 
The  gospel  of  Christ  has  given  much  to  lit- 
erature, and  literature  has  done  much  to 
popularize   the   gospel.     It  is   a   debatable 

9 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

question  as  to  which  debt  is  the  larger,  that 
of  literature  to  the  gospel,  or  of  the  gospel 
to  literature.  But  this  much  is  certain,  that 
the  debt  of  literature  to  the  gospel  is  large, 
for  the  spirit  and  teachings  of  the  gospel 
color  the  pages  of  all  our  literature.  "We  ex- 
pect to  find  these  teachings  in  the  Bible,  for 
the  Bible  is  the  text-book  of  the  gospel.  We 
look  for  them  in  devotional  books.  But  we 
find  them  as  really  in  that  literature  which 
convenience  has  labeled  secular.  Remove 
from  Shakespeare  every  coloring  of  the  gos- 
pel of  Christ  and  you  have  ended  in  Lady 
Macbeth  ambition's  war  with  conscience;  you 
have  closed  the  soliloquy  of  Hamlet,  who 
fears  to  take  his  leap  into  the  dark  of  an- 
other world;  you  have  released  the  soulless 
Shylock  from  the  penalty  his  depraved  life 
deserves.  Take  out  of  all  secular  literature 
the  truth  that  had  its  birth  in  the  gospel  of 
Jesus,  and  you  have  made  a  wound  in  the 
literature  of  the  nations  from  which  the  life- 
blood  will  speedily  ebb  away. 

The  best  poetry  is  only  the  gospel  set  to 

10 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

music.  Poets  are  preachers,  though  they 
may  little  dream  that  they  have  preached. 
In  the  lines  that  have  come  from  their  pens 
there  are  messages  of  religious  import, 
though  the  verses  that  convey  them  may  be 
called  secular.  So  it  comes  to  pass  that  we 
have  sermons  in  secular  literature.  The  ser- 
mons are  more  important  than  the  literature, 
just  as  food  is  more  important  than  the  ves- 
sel in  which  it  is  carried.  It  is  the  food  we 
want,  whether  the  vessel  be  iron  or  gold. 

In  Tennyson's  poem  Enoch  Arden  we 
have  rich  food  carried  in  a  golden  vessel. 
The  message  is  noble.  It  appeals  to  the 
heart.  It  calls  to  a  more  unselfish  living. 
And  likewise,  the  story  itself  is  golden.  Here 
is  a  tale  that  is  tender,  beautiful,  and  enno- 
bling. Enoch  Arden  is  peculiar  in  this,  it 
is  a  story  without  sin.  It  is  a  picture  that 
has  no  iniquity  to  stain  its  fair  canvas.  The 
actors  on  this  stage  are  all  noble  characters. 
There  is  no  villain  here.  No  impure  life 
walks  among  the  pure.  It  is  true  that  in 
one  instance  a  dark  mind  without  the  circle 

11 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

of  these  actors  offers  the  suggestion  that 
there  may  be  sin  within  the  circle,  but  the 
circle  itself  remains  unspotted.  The  story 
is  clean.  Here  is  a  tale  of  suffering  and  sor- 
row, but  no  sin.  Here  we  see  tears  and 
heartaches  and  breaking  of  home  ties;  long 
years  of  patient  yearning,  hoping,  and  de- 
spairing; cries  of  pain  smothered,  self-cruci- 
fixion, death  in  unspeakable  loneliness,  but 
no  sin.  Annie  Lee  lived  on  in  a  happy  home 
without  sin.  Enoch  Arden  fought  his  hard 
fight,  suffered  alone,  endured  in  hopeless  de- 
spair, but  he  went  to  his  grave  without  sin. 
Herein  is  a  large  element  of  the  glory  of 
this  story.  And  herein  is  a  large  part  of 
the  message  of  Enoch  Arden,  tliat  a  man 
may  face  the  battles,  endure  the  disasters, 
and  suffer  the  defeats  of  life,  and  yet  lie 
down  in  his  grave  at  last  with  a  clean  soul. 
The  opening  scene  of  the  poem  is  one  of 
tenderness  and  naturalness.  The  glory  of 
childhood  enshrines  it.  In  the  foreground 
is  the  sea,  with  its  beach  stretching  back  to- 
ward the  cliffs,  which  are  crowned  with  the 

12 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

village  buildings,  chief  among  whicli  are  the 
church  and  the  mill.  The  picture  could  not 
be  complete  without  the  church  and  the  mill, 
for  these  are  the  centers  of  social  life.  Al- 
ways the  mill  has  stood  as  the  sign  of  in- 
dustry and  the  agency  for  satisfying  man's 
need  for  physical  food.  And  the  church  has 
ever  stood  as  the  sign  of  man's  higher  na- 
ture and  the  agency  for  satisfying  his  need 
for  spiritual  food.  The  church  and  the  mill ! 
These  two  must  ever  be  friends.  This  twain 
must  ever  travel  side  by  side.  For  where 
industry  thrives  and  civilization  advances, 
there  too  must  the  church  go  with  her  sancti- 
fying influence  and  molding  ]30wer.  And 
wherever  the  church  goes  there  too  the  mill 
must  be,  for  the  church  can  not  exist  apart 
from  the  industries  of  men.  In  the  village 
bordering  the  beach  stood  the  mill  and  the 
church.  The  background  of  the  picture  is 
complete. 

On  the  beach  in  the  foreground  of  the 
picture  three  children  are  at  play.  They  are 
Annie  Lee,  the  prettiest  maid  of  the  village ; 

13 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Philip  Rae,  the  miller's  son,  and  Enoch  Ar- 
den,  a  sailor's  son,  made  fatherless  by  a  win- 
ter shipwreck.  These  three  children  are  the 
chief  actors  in  the  story.  But  they  do  not 
remain  child  actors.  As  they  move  before 
ns  we  see  them  grow  to  manhood  and  woman- 
hood. They  feel  the  strain  of  life,  experience 
the  glow  of  love  and  the  bitterness  of  de- 
spair, encounter  their  defeats,  and  win  their 
victories;  they  take  up  life's  burdens,  make 
their  homes,  rear  their  children,  and  do  tJieir 
part  in  the  world's  work. 

But  for  the  present  they  are  children. 
A  childish  love  affair  arises,  for  Philip  Rae 
and  Enoch  Arden  both  love  Annie  Lee.  The 
children  play  at  housekeeping  in  a  cave  be- 
neath the  cliff,  and  both  boys  would  claim 
the  little  girl  as  wife.  And  when  they  would 
come  to  strife,  Enoch  Arden,  stronger  built, 
would  come  off  victor,  and  Philip  Rae  would 
weep  in  the  wrath  of  his  defeat  and  say, 
' '  Enoch,  I  hate  you. ' '  And  the  little  woman 
would  weep  too,  and  ask  them  not  to  quar- 
rel, for  she  would  be  wife  to  both. 

14 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

So  cliildliood  grew  to  manhood  and  wom- 
anliood,  and  the  love  of  the  children  grew 
likewise.  Philip  and  Enoch  still  loved  Annie 
Lee.  But  the  love  of  Annie  Lee  grew  to- 
ward Enoch  Arden.  One  autnmn  eventide 
Philip  read  in  their  eyes  and  faces  his  own 
doom.  He  wisely  left  them  to  their  bliss, 
while  he  went  away  to  face  the  world  alone, 
bearing  in  his  heart  a  lifelong  hunger.  Poor 
Philip  Rae!  Behold  him,  a  man  with  a  life- 
long hunger  in  his  heart.  A  type  he  is  of 
multitudes  who  walk  the  earth  feeling  their 
hunger  and  bearing  their  loads  not  because 
of  disappointed  loves  merely,  but  because  of 
blasted  hopes,  the  injustices  of  the  world, 
sorrows  unspeakable.  Few  are  the  men  who, 
as  they  go,  do  not  bear  in  their  hearts  some 
sort  of  hunger.  But  the  test  of  manhood  is 
the  ability  to  fight  on  and  be  strong  in  spite 
of  the  hunger.  He  is  a  weakling  who  will 
sit  down  in  despair  because  his  heart  aches. 
He  is  a  hero  who  will  accept  the  ache  of  the 
heart  as  a  spur  urging  him  on  to  nobler  liv- 
ing.    And  there  are  more  of  these  heroes 

15 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

about  us  than  we  think.  They  have  been  dec- 
orated with  no  medal  of  honor,  but  they  are 
nevertheless  heroes,  because,  while  the  heart 
aches,  the  mind  is  active,  the  hands  are  busy, 
and  the  life  is  true. 

Thus  Philip  Rae  was  a  hero.  He  went 
his  lonely  way,  but  not  to  despair.  He  took 
up  life's  tasks.  He  succeeded  in  temiDorai 
affairs.  He  gained  honor  and  wealth.  He 
became  a  leading  citizen  of  the  little  village. 
He  remained  a  manly  man.  But  he  still  bore 
in  his  heart  his  lifelong  hunger. 

Enoch  Arden  and  Annie  Lee  were  mar- 
ried. Into  their  home  children  came.  First 
a  daughter  came,  and  then  a  son.  Then, 
after  years  had  gone,  Enoch  on  an  ocean 
trip  was  hurt  and,  far  away  from  home,  lay 
on  a  bed  of  affliction.  During  his  misfor- 
tune and  his  absence  another  child  was  born 
into  his  home.  As  Enoch  saw  his  family  in- 
crease there  grew  up  in  his  heart  a  desire 
that  his  children  might  have  a  better  educa- 
tion than  had  been  his  own.  More  wealth 
was  therefore  essential.    An  opportunity  for 

16 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

securing  the  desired  wealth  seemed  to  be  pre- 
sented to  Enoch  in  an  announcement  that  a 
vessel  was  soon  to  leave  the  port  and  sail  to 
distant  lands  in  quest  of  gain.  Upon  this 
vessel  Enoch  secured  a  place  as  boatswain. 
It  would  be  weeks  before  the  vessel  sailed, 
and  before  that  time  Enoch  felt  that  he 
would  be  fully  recovered  and  ready  for  the 
voyage. 

When  sufficiently  recovered,  Enoch  went 
back  to  his  home  to  acquaint  his  wife  with 
his  plan.  She  protested  against  it,  sorrow- 
fully, declaring  that  despite  Enoch's  bright 
coloring  of  their  future  prospects  she  felt 
sure  that  if  he  took  the  voyage  she  would 
never  see  his  face  again.  But  Enoch  was 
more  confident  and  more  persistent,  and  his 
plans  won.  Their  earnings  were  invested  in 
a  little  store,  which  the  wife  might  manage 
during  Enoch's  absence,  thus  providing  a 
support  for  the  children.  Then  Enoch  went 
back  to  the  port  from  which  his  ship  was  to 
sail,  having  said  to  his  wife  that  at  a  cer- 
tain time  on  a  certain  day  the  ship  would 

2  17 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

sail  past  their  home,  and,  though  far  out  at 
sea,  if  she  would  take  the  glass  and  look,  she 
might  see  him  standing  on  the  deck.  The 
day  and  the  hour  came,  and  the  ship  ap- 
peared in  the  distance.  Annie  took  the  glass 
and  looked.  "She  could  not  fix  the  glass  to 
suit  her  eye;  perhaps  her  eye  was  dim,  her 
hand  tremulous."  At  any  rate,  the  oppor- 
tunity and  the  vessel  passed,  and  Annie  saw 
not  the  face  of  Enoch.  The  vessel  moved 
awav  and  was  lost  in  the  dim  distance.  Yes, 
the  vessel  was  lost  and  Enoch  was  lost.  As 
the  years  passed  by,  no  message  came,  no 
voice  was  heard  from  that  distance.  All  was 
as  silent  as  though  the  vessel  had  sailed 
away  into  the  land  of  the  dead. 

Meanwhile,  what  of  this  quest  of  Enoch 
Arden?  While  we  must  admire  the  motive 
that  sent  him  afar,  we  are  compelled  to  feel 
that  his  wisdom  was  at  fault.  He  was  taking 
chances  too  great.  He  was  sacrificing  too 
much  that  was  certain  and  safe  for  some- 
thing woefully  uncertain  and  imsafe.  Enoch 
had  a  lovely  little  home  with  a  faithful  wife 

18 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

and  growing  children.  True,  they  were  poor, 
but  happiness  had  found  a  nesting-place  in 
that  humble  home— that  was  worth  more 
than  all  the  world  beside.  The  humble  home 
where  happiness  and  love  abide  is  richer  far 
than  the  palace  from  which  happiness  and 
love  have  flown.  It  was  a  bad  bargain  for 
Enoch  Arden  to  give  up  the  happiness  al- 
ready his,  and  go  in  search  of  wealth  which 
perhaps  should  never  be  his.  And  yet  the 
mistake  of  Enoch  is  one  the  world  witnesses 
over  and  over.  Too  often  we  miss  the  joy 
of  present  living  because  we  are  engaged  in 
a  mad  chase  after  something  we  would  pos- 
sess in  the  future.  The  simple  life  of  the 
present  is  omitted  while  we  dream  of  the 
larger  life  of  the  future.  Every  day  brings 
its  own  blessings.  They  should  be  embraced 
to-day,  and  not  discarded  for  a  blessing  that 
may  possibly  come  to-morrow.  The  best  phi- 
losophy of  life  is  to  live  each  day  at  its  best, 
and  enjoy  all  the  blessings  it  brings.  To- 
morrow is  uncertain.  Certainly  one  should 
be  ever  ambitious  for  better  things,  but  not 

19 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

at  the  price  of  the  sacrifice  of  the  opportu- 
nities of  the  present.  It  is  bad  living  to  bar- 
ter away  the  certain  happiness  of  to-day  for 
the  uncertain  prospect  of  happiness  to-mor- 
row. 

But  what  of  the  wife  and  children  after 
Enoch  had  gone!  The  wife  was  a  poor  sales- 
woman and  business  manager.  The  business 
waned.  The  baby  sickened  and  died.  When 
the  stricken  mother  had  laid  the  child  to  rest 
and  sat  alone  in  her  sorrow,  Philip  Rae,  still 
bearing  the  hunger  in  his  heart,  came  in  to 
comfort  her.  But  not  of  self  did  he  think. 
He  thought  of  Enoch's  children,  the  boy  and 
girl  yet  left.  He  begged  of  Annie  the  privi- 
lege of  sending  these  children  to  school  and 
caring  for  all  their  needs,  for  he  was  rich. 
Enoch  might  repay  him  if  he  wished  when 
he  returned.  And  if  he  did  not  so  wish,  well. 
At  last  Annie  consented  to  the  proposition, 
and  the  children  were  placed  in  school. 
Philip  Rae  loved  them  well  and  lavished 
much  wealth  upon  them.  The  children  grew, 
and  learned  to  call  him  Father  Philip.    The 

20 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

memory  of  their  own  father  faded,  and  their 
love  for  the  new  father  increased.  The  years 
went  by,  and  no  news  of  Enoch  came.  The 
conviction  grew  upon  all  that  Enoch  was 
dead.  Ten  years  moved  slowly  by,  and  then 
Philip  dared  to  speak  to  Annie  of  the  cer- 
tainty of  Enoch's  death  and  of  the  love  in 
his  heart  for  her.  But  Annie  pleaded  for 
time.  She  would  wait  another  year,  and  if 
no  word  came  from  Enoch  she  would  accept 
the  silence  as  heaven's  answer  that  Enoch 
was  dead.  Then  she  would  listen  to  the  de- 
sires of  Philip. 

The  year  rolled  by,  and  Annie,  still  in 
doubt,  prayed  one  month  more  of  time.  It 
was  granted,  Philip  saying,  *^Take  your  own 
time, Annie;  take  your  own  time."  And  so 
she  held  him  off  until  another  half  year  had 
slipped  away.  Then,  in  a  vision  one  night, 
Annie  seemed  to  see  Enoch  beneath  a  palm 
tree,  the  sun  shining  brightly  above  him.  To 
her  the  vision  seemed  as  a  message  assuring 
her  that  Enoch  lived  no  more  on  earth,  but 
lived  in  another  world,  where  the  tree  of  life 

21 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

was  growing  and  the  snn  was  shining  bright 
for  evermore.  So  her  answer  was  finally- 
given  to  Philip,  and  they  were  wedded.  A 
new  home  was  formed  for  Annie  and  her 
children.  After  a  while  a  new  life  came  into 
their  home,  and  Annie  became  happy  in  her 
new  estate  and  almost  forgot  the  sorrows  of 
the  past. 

But  what  of  Enoch?  Not  successful  was 
his  quest.  The  ship  on  which  he  sailed  was 
called  Good  Fortune,  but  bad  fortune  came 
to  ship  and  crew  alike.  A  storm  drifted  the 
vessel  far  from  her  course  and  wrecked  her 
on  the  shore  of  a  strange  island.  Enoch  and 
two  others  clinging  to  the  wreckage  were 
washed  ashore.  On  the  island  were  game 
and  fruit  in  plenty;  but  as  time  moved  on, 
the  two  companions  sickened  and  died,  and 
Enoch  was  left  alone.  As  the  years  wore 
away  the  fire  of  hope  died  not  utterly  from 
his  heart,  but  it  was  hope  long  deferred.  At 
last  the  day  of  his  deliverance  came.  An- 
other vessel,  drifted  from  her  course  by  a 
storm,  approached  the  island  in  search  of 

22 


ENOCH  AEDEN 

water;  and  Enoch,  now  like  a  wild  man  in 
appearance,  was  discovered,  pitied  by  the 
crew,  taken  on  board,  and  at  last  by  their  ef- 
forts landed  in  the  harbor  from  which  he  had 
sailed  away  years  before.  He  was  again 
near  his  own  home.  But  now  fears  as  ter- 
rible as  those  that  had  haunted  him  on  the 
lonely  island  possessed  him.  A  power  as 
great  as  that  which  had  hurried  him  home- 
ward seemed  to  lay  its  hand  upon  him  and 
stop  him  from  going  home.  Home?  Had  he 
any  home?  Had  he  a  wife,  a  child,  a  home? 
Was  he  to  go  on,  to  find  new-made  graves, 
and  have  his  last  lingering  hopes  blighted? 
Was  he  to  go  on  and  find  worse  than  graves 
—his  loved  ones  now  the  loved  ones  of  an- 
other in  the  light  of  a  home  he  dare  not  en- 
ter; living,  yet  dead  to  him  forever? 

Here  is  one  of  the  most  tragically  terrible 
situations  in  all  literature.  Here  is  a  trag- 
edy not  terrible  in  its  blood  or  crime,  but  ter- 
rible in  the  unmitigated  sorrow  of  a  lonely, 
friendless  heart.  It  is  the  tragedy  of  tears, 
with  no  hand  to  dry  them;  of  a  breaking 

23 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

heart,  with  no  bahn  at  hand ;  of  an  agonizing 
question,  with  no  answer  forthcoming;  of  a 
soul-burdened  cry  for  friendship  and  love, 
with  only  a  mocking  susjDense  for  an  answer. 
That  is  tragedy! 

But  on  Enoch  moved,  toward  the  old 
home  village.  It  was  a  dark,  misty  night, 
and  few  people  were  on  the  streets.  On  he 
moved  until  he  stood  before  the  house  that 
had  once  been  his  home.  But  not  a  light 
was  seen,  not  a  voice  was  heard.  Finally 
Enoch  distinguished  upon  the  door  a  bill  of 
sale,  and,  fearing  the  worst,  cried  in  his  de- 
spair, '^Dead,  or  dead  to  me?"  Then  he 
turned  and  went  back  to  the  wharf,  to  an  old 
inn,  where  he  lived  in  seclusion  for  several 
days.  Then  from  the  landlady,  who  was  an 
able  gossip,  and  who  failed  to  recognize 
Enoch,  he  heard  the  story  of  the  death  of  his 
own  babe,  the  education  of  the  two  children 
by  Philip  Rae,  and  of  the  marriage  of  his 
wife  to  Philip.  And  as  the  woman  closed 
her  story  with  the  words,  ' '  Enoch,  i^oor  man, 
was  cast  away  and  lost,"  Enoch  himself  re- 

24 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

peated,  ''Cast  away  and  lost,"  and  again  he 
murmured,  ' '  Lost. ' ' 

Knowing  the  worst,  and  all  hope  now 
gone,  Enoch  felt  that  he  might  die  in  peace 
if  only  he  could  get  one  more  glimpse  of 
Annie's  face  and  know  that  she  was  happy. 
And  so  one  night,  when  it  was  all  darkness 
without,  and  the  lights  were  burning  brightly 
within  the  home  of  Philip  Eae,  Enoch  crept 
up  tlirough  the  darkness  close  to  an  open 
window  and  looked  in.  He  saw  Annie  seated 
on  a  chair  and  at  her  side  the  daughter,  now 
grown  to  a  young  woman.  The  boy,  now  tall 
and  strong,  was  standing  not  far  away.  And 
Philip  Eae  sat  at  Annie 's  side,  rocking  on  his 
knee  a  little  babe.  A  picture  it  was  of  a 
lovely,  happy  home.  But  when  the  picture 
met  the  eyes  of  Enoch  Arden  he  staggered 
like  a  blow  had  fallen  upon  him,  and  a  cry 
heavy  with  pain  and  loud  with  despair  rose 
from  his  heart— but  it  never  passed  his  lips. 
The  only  place  the  cry  was  heard  was  in  the 
soul  of  Enoch  and  the  ear  of  God.  But  why 
did  he  not  relieve  the  bursting  heart  by  giv- 

25 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

ing  vent  to  his  despair  in  one  mighty  cry? 
Ah,  he  feared  to  cry,  lest  that  cry,  "like  the 
blast  of  doom,  wonld  shatter  all  the  happi- 
ness of  the  hearth"  within.  The  love  of 
Annie  constrained  him. 

Great  is  the  constraining  power  of  love. 
It  lays  its  hand  upon  a  life  and  checks  it 
in  its  wayward  course.  It  compels  conduct. 
The  young  man  who  loves  his  mother  will 
not  by  his  ungrateful  or  sinful  life  drive  the 
dagger  of  pain  into  her  heart.  He  would, 
like  Enoch,  rather  suifer  himself  than  cause 
her  to  suffer.  The  husband  who  loves  his 
wife  will  not  insist  on  those  practices  that 
destroy  her  happiness.  Love  constrains  him. 
The  Christian  who  loves  the  Lord  will  sacri- 
fice some  of  the  desires  of  a  selfish  life  rather 
than  bring  pain  to  the  Master's  heart.  A 
Christian  can  in  no  better  way  declare  his 
lack  of  love  for  Jesus  Christ  than  by  doing 
that  which  brings  sorrow  to  the  Savior's 
heart  and  hurt  to  His  cause.  Christ  said, 
**If  you  love  Me,  keep  My  commandments." 
That  is,  ''If  you  love  Me  ye  tvill  keep  My 

26 


ENOCH  AEDEN 

commandments.  Ye  will  please  Me."  If 
Enoch  Arden  loves  Annie  he  will  not  pain 
her.  And  so  the  cry  of  despair  is  hnshed, 
and  Enoch  walks  away  in  the  darkness,  and 
Annie  is  left  undisturbed  in  her  happiness. 
Back  to  the  inn  Enoch  goes,  bearing  in  his 
heart  his  burden  and  holding  his  secret  until, 
bowed  down  with  his  burden,  his  life  is  be- 
ing crushed  out.  Sickness  overtakes  him, 
and  on  his  deathbed  he  surrenders  up  to  the 
landlady  his  secret,  on  condition  that  it 
should  not  be  revealed  until  after  his  death, 
and  revealed  then  only  that  Annie  may  be 
told  that  Enoch  loved  her  to  the  end,  and 
that  Philip  Eae  might  be  told  that  Enoch 
blessed  him  with  his  dying  strength,  and  that 
the  children  might  Imow  that  their  father's 
last  prayers  ascended  for  them.  And  so 
Enoch  died,  the  secret  was  told,  *'and  when 
they  buried  him  the  little  port  had  seldom 
seen  a  costlier  funeral." 

Why  did  Tennyson  write  this  poem  ?  Per- 
haps a  purely  historical  answer  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  give,  as  the  necessary  external  evi- 

27 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

donee  is  not  to  be  found.  But  from  the  in- 
ternal evidence,  the  content  of  the  poem,  we 
may  venture  an  answer.  If  we,  like  Enoch 
Arden,  a  castaway  on  a  strange  island, 
should  accidentally  discover  this  poem  and 
know  nothing  of  its  history  or  authorship, 
and  should  ask  why  it  was  written,  we  would 
not  answer  that  it  was  written  for  the  sake 
of  telling  a  sad  story,  nor  for  the  sake  of 
romance  merelv,  but  rather  for  the  sake  of 
a  truth  stranger  than  fiction.  That  truth  is 
the  power  and  beauty  of  love  as  expressed  in 
self-sacrifice.  Here  is  a  story  of  Love's  self- 
crucifixion.  Enoch  Arden  is  the  personifica- 
tion of  heroic  love.  He  loves  devotedly.  He 
loves  unto  toil,  unto  danger,  denial,  and  sac- 
rifice.   He  loves  unto  death. 

The  highest  expression  of  love  is  self- 
crucifixion.  Love  at  its  best  will  suffer  even 
unto  death  rather  than  permit  its  object  to 
suffer.  Measure  love  by  the  lofty  standard 
of  what  it  is  willing  to  suffer,  and  you  dis- 
cover its  time  worth.  Lower  standards  do 
not  evidence  love  at  its  best.    A  man  may 

28 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

give  his  wife  a  present— it  may  or  may  not 
be  a  mark  of  love.  Many  a  present  lias 
passed  where  no  love  existed.  One  may 
speak  a  kind  word— it  is  no  mark  of  love. 
Many  a  kind  word  has  been  born  of  pity  or 
of  policy  when  love  was  absent.  One  may 
even  i^erform  a  kind  deed  that  costs  a  sac- 
rifice, and  yet  no  love  may  be  manifested. 
There  may  be  nothing  more  than  the  milk 
of  hmnan  kindness  in  the  deed.  You  can  not 
test  love  on  these  lower  planes.  But  pitch 
it  on  the  higher  plane  of  self-sacrifice,  and 
you  learn  its  worth.  When  the  husband 
prayed  that  he  might  take  upon  himself  the 
pain  the  wife  endured,  and  suffer  in  her 
stead,— that  was  love.  When  the  mother 
longed  to  fix  upon  her  life  the  penalty  that 
had  been  decreed  to  her  boy,  and  die  for 
him,— that  was  love.  When  God  gave  His 
only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  belieyeth 
on  Him  might  not  i^erish,  but  have  eternal 
life,— that  was  love.  When  Jesus  Christ 
walked  to  the  cross  and  laid  His  hands  and 
feet  upon  it,  and  spilt  His  blood,  that  men 

29 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

might  come  to  know  God,— that  was  love. 
Love  at  its  best  suffers,  and  dies  if  need  be, 
for  its  object. 

Love  can  reach  its  best  only  in  a  life  that 
is  good.  Herein  is  the  great  message  of 
Enoch  Arden.  Love  and  Goodness  must  ever 
be  boon  companions  if  either  becomes  her 
best.  Love  is  her  best  only  when  joined  with 
Goodness.  Why  did  not  Enoch  Arden  cry 
aloud  that  night  when  he  saw  his  loved  ones 
Jiappy  in  the  home  of  another?  Why  did 
he  not  let  fly  that  shriek,  and  shatter  all  the 
happiness  of  the  hearth  within"?  Why  was 
he  able  to  resist  so  that  the  cry  was  smoth- 
ered? A  life  weakened  by  the  touch  of  sin 
could  not  have  resisted  so.  But  Enoch  Ar- 
den was  possessed  of  the  strength  of  Good- 
ness and  Love  combined.  And  Goodness 
placed  her  hand  alongside  of  the  hand  of 
Love,  and  together  they  stopped  the  mouth 
of  Enoch  Arden,  and  the  fatal  cry  was 
hushed.  It  was  Goodness  joined  with  Love. 
Mephistopheles   could  not  have  done  that. 

There  was  too  much  of  lust  in  his  life.    Lady 

30 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

Macbeth  could  not  have  done  that.  There 
was  too  much  blood  upon  her  lily-white 
hands.  From  lives  like  these  the  cry  would 
have  fallen,  the  blast  of  doom  would  have 
sounded,  and  happiness  would  have  been 
shattered,  for  in  such  lives  hate  is  stronger 
than  love.  Sin  has  strangled  Goodness. 
With  Enoch  Arden  it  was  not  so.  He  was 
clean,  and  therefore  he  was  strong,  and  there- 
fore Love  triumphed.  Hence,  when  he  tip- 
toed from  the  garden  of  Philip  Rae,  lest  he 
might  be  discovered  and  the  happiness  of 
Annie  shattered,  he  carried  in  his  bosom  a 
broken  heart,  but  two  ministering  angels 
walked  by  his  side,  and  one  was  called  Love 
and  the  other  Goodness.     Sisters  they. 

Yes,  this  is  the  message  of  Enoch  Arden, 
that  he  who  would  love  best  must  live  well. 
Love  is  evermore  crippled  by  wickedness. 
The  man  who  spends  for  drinlc  the  money 
that  should  bring  comfort  to  wife  and  chil- 
dren is  robbing  them  not  only  of  his  money, 
but  of  his  love,  for  whislr^^  dulls  the  line  edge 
of  love.     He  who  has  unbalanced  his  man- 

31 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

liood  by  intoxication  can  not  love  as  of  yore. 
The  man  who  proves  untrue  to  his  marriage 
vow  and  submits  himself  a  slave  to  lust 
makes  it  impossible  to  love  wife  and  liome 
as  he  should.  The  man  who  by  craft,  deceit, 
and  cruelty  defrauds  and  injures  others,  to 
gain  unscrupulous  ends,  has  hardened  his 
own  power  of  love  until  he,  like  the  sin  of 
his  life,  is  cold  and  relentless.  Sin  strikes 
a  deathblow  at  love.  Drop  one  particle  of 
black  ink  in  a  glass  of  pure  water,  the  water 
is  tainted.  Another  and  another  drop,  and 
the  water  is  colored.  Another  and  another 
drop,  and  the  water  is  black.  Every  drop  of 
ink  spoiled  the  purity  of  the  water.  Love  is 
the  water.  Sin  is  the  ink.  Mix  them,  and 
love  is  tainted.  Mix  them,  and  love  is  col- 
ored. Mix  them,  and  behold!  love  itself  is 
transformed  into  sin.  He  who  would  love 
much  must  keep  himself  clean.  If  it  be  sug- 
gested that  some  who  have  been  bad  have 
loved  still,  let  the  question  also  be  suggested 
as  to  how  much  stronger,  more  beautiful,  and 
heroic  that  love  might  have  been  if  sin  had 

32 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

been  left  out,  for  the  message  of  Enoch  Ar- 
den  is  true  that  sin  cripples  love,  and  he  who 
would  love  best  must  keep  himself  pure. 

The  highest  form  of  human  love  is  that 
of  the  soul  for  its  God.  Highest  because  it 
enriches  and  ennobles  all  other  love.  He 
who  loves  God  with  all  his  hea.rt  will  find 
no  difficulty  in  loving  his  neighbor.  Love  for 
wife  and  kindred  and  friends  will  mean  more. 
The  hard  tests  of  life  will  be  more  patiently 
endured.  The  march  up  Calvary's  liill  for 
the  crucifixion  of  self  in  some  great  crisis 
will  be  made  more  possible.  And  chiefly,  the 
holy  life,  which  is  the  guiding  star  of  hu- 
manity, will  be  more  possible  in  the  presence 
of  love  for  God. 

While  the  highest  form  of  human  love  is 
that  of  the  soul  for  God,  the  highest  example 
of  love  is  that  of  God's  love  for  man.  His- 
tory has  some  splendid  examples  of  love. 
Literature  has  pictured  some  examples  of 
love  that  are  inspiring,  as  that  of  Enoch  Ar- 
den.  But  the  supreme  type  is  that  exhibited 
in  Christ's  sacrifice  for  the  world.    It  was  a 

8  33 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

crucifixion  not  only  of  self,  but  of  a  Self  the 
richest  the  world  has  known ;  a  Self  that  was 
a  bond  between  earth  and  heaven;  a  God- 
man;  a  type  of  love  and  a  sacrifice  that  was, 
which  ought  to  arouse  a  response  from  ever}'' 
noble,  grateful  soul. 

There  is  an  old  tradition  which  tells  of 
a  tribe  of  Seneca  Indians  once  living  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Niagara  Falls.  They  had 
the  custom  of  holding  a  festival  once  every 
year  for  the  purpose  of  making  an  offering 
to  propitiate  the  Spirit  of  the  Falls.  The 
offering  was  the  most  beautiful  maiden  who 
could  be  found  in  all  the  tribe.  On  a  cer- 
tain night,  when  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly  upon  the  waters,  she  was  required 
to  step  into  a  white  canoe  filled  with  fruits 
and  flowers,  and,  rowing  out  to  the  middle 
of  the  river,  be  swept  by  the  current  over  the 
falls  to  a  certain  death.  On  one  occasion  the 
maiden  chosen  by  the  priests  for  the  sacrifice 
was  a  daughter  of  the  chief  of  the  tribe.  The 
chief  was  a  stern  and  brave  man,  but  he  loved 
his  daughter  with  a  tender,  passionate  love. 

34 


ENOCH  ARDEN 

Yet,  because  of  her  marvelous  beauty  tlie 
daughter  was  selected  as  the  fairest  of  the 
tribe,  and  the  priests  declared  that  she  must 
be  offered  to  the  Spirit  of  the  Falls.  The 
brave  chief,  feeling  the  justice  of  the  choice 
made,  yielded  to  the  fatal  decree  and,  though 
with  breaking  heart,  unhesitatingly  offered 
his  daughter  for  the  sacrifice.  When  the 
fatal  night  arrived  the  people  were  assem- 
bled, the  moon  was  shining  brightly,  and  the 
maiden  stepped  into  the  white  canoe,  paddled 
boldly  out  into  the  current,  and  drifted  to- 
ward the  falls.  Then  the  waiting  multitude 
saw  a  strange  sight  that  fQled  them  with  awe. 
The  old  chief  was  seen  to  step  into  another 
white  canoe,  and  giving  a  few  mighty  strokes, 
his  boat  shot  alongside  the  boat  of  his  daugh- 
ter. Their  eyes  met.  There  was  a  look  of 
infinite  love,  a  swift  embrace,  and  together 
the  chief  and  his  daughter  dashed  over  the 
falls  to  the  rapids  beneath.  The  old  father 
loved  the  daughter  too  much  to  permit  her 
to  take  the  death  journey  alone. 

That  was  love.     The  name  of  the  chief 

35 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

was  revered  because  he  died  with  one  lie 
loved.  But  tliis  story  lacks  the  superlative 
element.  Better  would  it  have  been  if  the 
chief  had  stepped  into  the  boat  of  the  girl 
and  died  for  her,  leaving  her  yet  among  the 
living.  It  may  be  a  great  thing  to  die  ivith 
another,  but  it  is  infinitely  greater  to  die  for 
another.  That  is  what  Christ  did.  When  hu- 
manity's boat  was  about  to  drift  over  the 
falls  He  placed  the  feet  of  the  doomed  race 
safely  on  the  shore,  while  He  Himself 
stepped  into  the  boat  and  went  down  into  the 
rapids  alone. 


36 


II 

THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT; 

OR, 
GOD  AT  THE  FIRESIDE 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT; 

OR, 
GOD  AT  THE  FIRESIDE 

One  of  the  deplorable  facts  in  the  history 
of  poetry  is  that  the  world,  while  lauding 
the  poetry,  is  so  often  compelled  to  lament 
the  poet.  The  production  is  worthy  of  com- 
mendation, while  the  man  who  wrote  it  is 
often  so  unworthy  that  the  reader  is  com- 
pelled to  apologize  for  his  shortcomings. 
This  is  true,  because  some  of  the  men  who 
have  pictured  an  ideal  in  literature  have 
been  unable  to  realize  that  ideal  in  their  own 
lives.  In  this  class  we  must  place  Robert 
Burns,  the  author  of  ''The  Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night."  Few  men  are  more  beloved  as 
a  poet  by  their  countrymen  and  by  the  world 
than  Robert  Burns.  Yet  few  men  are  more 
lamented  as  a  man  than  he.    His  poems  have 

39 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

faithfully  pictured  the  life  and  virtues  of 
the  noble  peasantry  of  his  brave  little  land. 
He  has  truly  sung  the  glories  of  Scotland. 
His  verses  have  touched  responsive  chords 
in  the  lives  of  all  men.  Burns  the  poet  is  a 
favorite.  But  when  we  speak  of  Bums  the 
man  we  must  pause  to  blush  and  weave  a 
cloak  of  charity  to  throw  over  the  multitude 
of  his  sins. 

Burns  committed  the  glaring  mistake  of 
trifling  with  the  affections  of  his  heart  in  the 
early  days  of  his  life  when  character  was 
forming.  The  affections  are  laid  at  the 
very  foundations  of  one's  life  and  are  a  de- 
termining factor  in  the  life.  If  they  are 
guarded  and  given  a  wholesome  development 
they  will  determine  a  life  of  nobility.  The 
life  will  then  become  strong  and  firm  in  rec- 
titude. But  if  the  affections  are  tampered 
with  and  undermined  in  youth,  their  injury 
will  determine  an  unstable,  weakened  life,  in 
which  an  indecisive  conflict  will  be  continu- 
ally waged  between  nobility  and  ignominy, 
between  the  good  and  the  bad. 

40 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

This  was  the  mistake  of  Burns.  As  a.  boy 
of  seventeen  he  had  numerous  love  affairs, 
■wrote  verses  in  j^raise  of  many  girls,  gave 
himself  to  the  dance  and  the  wine  cup,  grew 
in  years  bearing  the  early  unbalanced  traits 
of  character,  until  finally  he  became  seem- 
ingly incapable  of  constancy.  While  claim- 
ing one  woman  as  wife,  he  declared  his  pas- 
sion for  another,  and  upon  the  occasion  of  the 
death  of  the  latter  wrote  a  beautiful  little 
poem  as  a  tribute  to  her.  When  we  read  the 
lines  to  Mary  in  Heaven  we  are  impressed 
with  their  tenderness  and  intensity  of  affec- 
tion. But  when  we  recall  that  they  are  lines 
written  bv  a  man  to  one  not  his  wife,  and  that 
when  the  lines  were  written  he  was  declaring 
his  love  for  two  women  (one  of  whom  was 
his  wife),  the  verses  become  robbed  of  their 
sweetness,  and  we  feel  that  somewhere  in  the 
life  of  the  man  who  wrote  them  there  must 
have  been  a  fundamental  moral  and  ethical 
lack.  But  such  was  Robert  Burns.  The  mis- 
takes of  his  youth  followed  him  to  his  grave, 
as  youthful  mistakes  are  wont  to  do.    His  bi- 

41 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

ographers  have  said  two  things  of  liim  that 
should  stand  as  a  warning  to  all  subsequent 
generations:  (1)  "He  died  in  the  prime  of 
manhood,  miserable  and  neglected."  (2)  "In 
all  but  his  poetry  his  was  a  defeated  life." 
A  defeated  life!  AVhat  a  sad  commentary! 
How  much  more  the  life  and  poetry  of  Rob- 
ert Burns  might  have  meant  to  the  world  if 
his  had  been  a  victorious  instead  of  a  de- 
feated life! 

As  it  was  the  well-known  "Elegy"  that 
brought  Thomas  Gray  into  fame,  so  it  was 
"The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  that  brought 
llobert  Burns  into  fame.  This  poem  was 
written  when  Bums  was  twenty-six  years  of 
age.  The  evident  purpose  was  to  give  a  true 
and  immortal  picture  of  a  very  common 
phase  of  Scotch  life.  The  cotter  was  a  well- 
known  character  in  Scotland.  He  was  one 
who  lived  in  a  cot  or  cottage  on  a  farm. 
His  position  corresponded  to  the  position  of 
a  tenant  on  a  farm  in  this  country.  The 
cotter  was  usually  a  poor  man,  and  necessa- 
rily so,  because  of  his  position.    Often  he  had 

42 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

a  large  family  of  children.  As  the  children 
grew  in  years  it  became  necessary  for  them 
to  hire  out  to  work  on  neighboring  farms,  in 
order  to  help  support  themselves  and  the 
family.  Their  work  took  them  away  from 
home  during  the  week,  but  on  Saturday  night, 
when  the  week's  toil  was  ended,  the  young 
people  came  gathering  home  for  the  Sabbath 
rest.  Hence  on  Saturday  night  there  was  a 
glad  reunion  in  the  home  of  the  cotter.  It 
is  a  picture  of  this  Saturday  night  reunion 
that  Burns  presents  in  ''The  Cotter's  Sat- 
urday Night."  The  scene  described  is  abun- 
dant in  i^ractical  suggestions,  and  its  rela- 
tion to  religious  history  is  significant.  The 
poem  therefore  furnishes  a  splendid  subject 
for  study  from  the  practical  and  religious 
standpoints. 

Like  a  pleasing  panorama  the  scenes  of 
"The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  are  made  to 
pass  before  us.  It  is  a  chill  day  in  Novem- 
ber, short  as  winter  days  are,  and  at  its  close 
the  cotter  collects  his  spades  and  hoes  and 
finds  his  way  toward  his  own  home.    He  is 

43 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

dreaming  of  the  joys  of  the  approaching 
night  and  the  rest  of  the  Sabbath  day.  As  he 
approaches  his  home  his  little  children  toddle 
forth  to  meet  him,  and  with  them  the  father 
walks  into  his  humble  cot  to  find  a  fire  glow- 
ing in  the  fireplace,  a  clean  hearthstone,  a 
thrifty  wife's  loving  smile,  and  a  lisping  in- 
fant which  the  father  is  soon  rocking  on  his 
knee.  The  jDoet  gives  a  tender  touch  of  sen- 
timent here  when  he  says  that  these  home  at- 
tractions combine  to  beguile  his  anxiety  and 
care  and  make  him  ''quite  forget  his  labor 
and  his  toil."  There  is  nothing  so  calculated 
to  drive  away  the  care  and  fatigue  of  a  hard- 
laboring  man  as  a  home  where  the  hearth 
is  clean  and  smiles  abound  and  love  reigns. 
Happy  the  man  who  has  a  home  of  that  kind, 
to  which  he  may  betake  himself  when  the 
brain  is  weary  or  the  body  aches!  It  is  a 
place  of  refuge  from  the  strain  and  storm 
of  life.  Wise  is  the  wife  who  seeks  to  cre- 
ate that  kind  of  a  home  and  refuge  for  hhn 
whose  days  are  given  in  toil  for  her!  The 
cotter  had  such  a  wife  and  such  a  home. 

44 


THE   COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

Presently  the  older  children  who  through 
the  week  have  been  working  on  neighboring 
farms  come  dropping  in.  Among  them  is 
Jenny,  the  oldest,  now  a  woman  grown  in 
youthful  bloom,  the  love-light  sparkling  in 
her  eyes.  The  poet  could  hardly  be  true  to 
life  and  leave  out  the  little  love  affair  which 
he  now  hastens  to  introduce,  for  love  will 
find  its  way  into  the  cottage  of  the  poor  as 
well  as  the  palace  of  the  rich.  Cupid  had 
been  shooting  his  shafts  at  Jenny  as  she  had 
toiled  abroad,  and  now  the  love-light  shines 
in  her  eyes.  But  before  the  meaning  of  that 
love-light  is  seen,  let  us  look  upon  a  splendid 
home  scene. 

Brothers  and  sisters  with  father  and 
mother  are  shut  within  the  four  walls  of  their 
humble  home.  What  care  they  for  the  world 
without— they  have  a  world  of  their  own 
within.  Mark  you,  these  are  brothers  and 
sisters,  not  merely  kin  by  blood.  There  is  a 
kinship  by  blood  and  there  is  a  communion 
of  spirit.  Brotherhood  or  sisterhood  is  a 
communion,   a  fellowship   of  spirit.     There 

45 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

are  boys  and  girls  bom  of  the  same  parents 
who  are  hardly  brothers  and  sisters.  The 
same  blood  is  in  their  veins,  but  there  is  no 
fellowship  of  spirit,  no  mutual  proprietor- 
ship of  common  interests;  no  love.  But  in 
the  cotter's  home  we  find  brothers  and  sis- 
ters. Common  poverty  and  common  toil 
have  knit  their  hearts  as  one.  Hence  not 
with  glumness  or  with  thoughts  afar  from 
the  family  circle  they  sit  in  each  other's  pres- 
ence. Their  thoughts  are  at  home.  With 
genuine  interest  they  inquire  of  each  other's 
welfare  and  of  the  experiences  of  the  week 
since  last  they  met.  Each  tells  the  news  of 
what  he  has  seen  or  heard.  The  mother  sits 
by  with  needle  and  shears  mending  the  chil- 
dren's clothes,  until  the  old  garments  look 
almost  as  good  as  new.  The  father  sits  by 
mingling  wholesome  advice  with  all  the  nar- 
ratives of  the  children.  He  exhorts  them  to 
mind  their  master  well;  to  labor  faithfully 
and  never  trifle  or  play  when  the  master's 
eye  is  not  upon  them.  The  real  character  of 
the  father  is  revealed  when  he  says: 

46 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

Be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway — 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray. 
Implore  His  counsel  and  assisting  might ; 
They  never  sought  in  vain  vpho  sought  the  Lord 
aright." 

But  now  a  rap  is  heard  at  the  door.  The 
love-light  in  Jenny's  eye  burns  afresh,  for 
she  knows  what  the  rap  means.  With 
blushes  she  confesses  to  her  mother  that  a 
neighbor  lad  was  come  that  way  with  her 
that  evening,  and,  his  errands  done,  he  would 
spend  the  evening  in  their  home.  The 
mother  quickly  grasps  the  situation,  hur- 
riedly inquires  the  young  man's  name,  and, 
learning  that  he  is  no  wild  rake,  but  a  young 
man  of  good  repute,  is  well  pleased.  The 
young  man  enters  and  is  taken  into  the  fam- 
ily circle.  He  is  bashful,  but  all  unite  to 
make  him  feel  at  home.  The  father  talks  of 
horses,  plows,  and  cows;  the  mother  adds 
her  kindly  words,  and  the  young  man's  heart 
is  filled  with  joy.  The  mother  is  likewise 
pleased  because  her  daughter  is  honored  with 
attention,  as  well  as  are  the  other  girls  of  the 
neighborhood. 

47 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

It  is  here,  while  picturing  this  simple  love 
affair,  that  the  poet  digresses  to  philosophize 
on  two  important  themes.  One  is  the  bliss- 
fulness  of  pure,  innocent  love.  The  other  is 
the  perfidy  of  the  villain  who  could  betray  a 
sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth. 

Is  there  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart, 
A  wretch,  a  villain,  lost  to  love  and  truth. 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art. 
Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth? 
Curse  on  his  perjured  arts!   dissembling  smooth! 
Are  honor,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exiled? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth. 
Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their 

child? 
Then  paints  the  ruined  maid,  and  their  distrac- 
tion wild?" 

Now  the  supper  hour  arrives,  and  the 
members  of  the  family  assemble  around  the 
simple  board.  Their  highland  hospitality 
makes  the  suitor  one  at  the  table.  Oatmeal 
pudding,  milk,  and  cheese  a  twelve-mouth  old 
constitute  the  evening  meal.  But  with  as 
much  joy  as  though  they  were  at  the  table  of 
a  king  the  members  of  that  contented  circle 

48 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

partake  of  the  supper,  while  wit  and  laugh- 
ter serve  as  spice  for  the  food. 

The  evening  meal  ended,  the  climax  of 
the  scene  is  presented.  Around  the  fireside 
they  gather— parents,  children,  and  guest. 
Another  glimpse  of  the  father's  character  is 
seen  as  he  spreads  the  open  Family  Bible 
upon  his  knees,  chooses  a  chapter  with  care, 
and  says,  "Let  us  worship  God."  Here  is 
a  tender  picture  of  a  home  scene  with  a  phase 
of  life  that  has  ever  served  as  a  safegniard 
to  the  lives  of  children  and  of  nations— the 
family  altar.  Here  there  is  a  church  in  the 
home,  as  was  so  often  true  in  apostolic  times. 
Parents  and  children  mingle  their  voices  in 
singing  some  familiar  song.  Then  "the 
priestlike  father  reads  the  sacred  page;" 
reads  of  Moses  or  Abraham,  of  Job's  pa- 
tience, of  Isaiah's  wild  prophecies;  or  per- 
haps of  later  times,  when  the  Savior  walked 
the  earth  with  men;  or  of  the  heroism  and 
struggles  of  some  who  followed  the  Savior 
even  unto  death.     Then,  having  ended  the 

reading,  the  father  prays.    It  is  a  prayer  of 
4  49 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

simplicity.  Tlie  poet  is  true  to  life  in  re- 
fusing to  put  upon  the  lips  of  this  humble 
saint  a  prayer  beyond  his  state.  There  is 
no  attempt  at  words  or  rhetoric.  There  is 
no  digression  to  interests  far  away  from  this 
highland  home.  If  this  prayer  may  be  called 
somewhat  selfish,  it  is  yet  natural.  It  ex- 
presses the  longings  and  hope  of  the  heart 
of  that  good  father.  He  prays  for  his  own. 
But,  after  all,  this  is  the  selfishness  that  char- 
acterizes the  majority  of  our  prayers.  We 
pray  for  our  own.  Thus  the  cotter  prays. 
The  reach  of  his  prayer  is  even  unto  heaven. 
He  looks  ui3on  his  family  circle,  unbroken 
and  unstained  by  sin,  and  his  longing  is  that 
it  might  remain  so  forever.  And  he  prays 
that  thus  they  might  meet  in  future  days, 
' '  no  more  to  sigh  or  shed  a  bitter  tear, ' '  and 
in  the  society  of  each  other  dwell,  while  cir- 
cling time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 
In  a  scene  like  this  there  is  something 
that  appeals  to  our  hearts.  The  man  of  the 
busy  worldly  life  may  not  practice  this  cus- 
tom of  family  prayer  in  his  own  home,  but 

50 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

tliere  is  something  in  it  which  finds  him. 
Men  admire  religious  faith  in  its  simple  and 
sincere  expression.  They  detest  the  dress  of 
pomp  and  parade  in  which  faith  is  sometimes 
clothed,  but  they  admire  simple  faith  in  Grod. 
The  thing  that  makes  this  scene  in  the  cot- 
ter's home  striking  is  a  religious  faith  un- 
disturbed by  doubt,  unstained  by  sin. 

But  the  scene  is  not  entirely  ended  yet. 
Family  prayer  over  and  tJie  social  evening 
ended,  the  friends  separate.  The  guest  re- 
tires, the  children  are  in  bed,  and  then,  as 
the  last  act  of  the  night,  the  parents  engage 
in  secret  prayer, 

**And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm  request, 
That  He  who  stills  the  raven's  clam'rous  nest, 
And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flowery  pride. 
Would  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best, 
For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide. 
But  chiefly  in  their  hearts  with  grace  preside." 

The  curtain  drops.  Silence  and  slumber 
inile  in  the  cotter's  home,  and  the  angels  of 
God  keep  vigil  there. 

The  student  of  literature  is  compelled  to 

51 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

mark  a  striking  difference  between  this  poem 
and  one  like  that  of  ''Enoch  Arden,"  by 
Tennyson.  This  poem  of  Burns  is  chiefly  a 
description— a  description  of  a  tender  home 
scene.  It  is  not  a  story ;  it  is  a  picture.  But 
"Enoch  Arden"  is  a  narrative  rather  than 
a  description.  It  is  a  story  as  well  as  a 
picture.  It  has  movement.  It  is  full  of  ro- 
mance and  tragedy.  It  keeps  the  reader  on 
the  tiptoe  of  expectation.  But  in  ''The  Cot- 
ter's Saturday  Night"  it  is  different.  Here 
you  see  only  a  picture.  It  is  beautiful.  Its 
colors  blend  harmoniously.  With  it  we  are 
pleased.  It  speaks  of  home,  and  love,  and 
faith,  and  God.  It  lacks  the  thrilling,  sen- 
sational elements  of  "Enoch  Arden."  But 
the  lack  is  atoned  for  by  the  abundance  of 
practical  suggestion.  It  exalts  the  home, 
character,  and  God.  And  because  ' '  The  Cot- 
ter's Saturday  Night"  is  a  tribute  of  praise 
to  home,  character,  and  God  it  will  ever  have 
a  high  place  in  the  affections  of  the  world. 
As  long  as  home,  character,  and  God  are 
loved  this  poem  will  live. 

52 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

The  scene  of  religious  devotion  pictured 
in  this  poem  is  one  all  will  commend.  It  ap- 
peals to  the  heart.  But  not  all  will  recom- 
mend such  a  practice  to  modern  American 
life.  Many  will  say  the  scene  is  beautiful, 
but  it  is  not  fitted  to  present  conditions.  We 
can  not  bring  such  a  scene  as  that  into  mod- 
em life.  But  why  not?  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
one  of  the  things  American  life  needs  most 
keenly  is  the  introduction  of  just  such  scenes 
as  that.  If  into  this  land  the  cotter's  Satur- 
day night  could  be  introduced  and  trans- 
formed so  we  would  have  the  laborer's  Sat- 
urday night,  the  business  man's  Saturday 
night,  and  the  professional  man's  Saturday 
night,  our  land  would  be  stronger  and  safer 
and  the  life  of  our  people  better. 

But  be  that  as  it  may,  there  is  something 
about  the  cotter's  Saturday  night  that  ap- 
peals to  our  hearts.  Whatever  the  condition 
of  modern  life  may  be,  we  enter  the  home  of 
this  cotter  and  come  forth  feeling  strangely 
refreshed.  In  this  home  tenderness,  affec- 
tion, fidelity  to  each  other,  cleanness  of  life, 

53 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

and  simple  faith  in  God  all  blend  to  make 
a  refreshing  atmosphere.  As  the  story  of 
'*  Enoch  Arden"  is  marked  for  the  absence 
of  sin,  so  is  ''The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night." 
Here  is  no  villain,  no  crime.  Lives  true  and 
innocent  are  here  swayed  by  noble  purpose. 
There  is  a  music  permeating  this  scene  as 
sweet  as  that  which  stirs  the  heart  as  one 
reads  the  story  of  John  Alden  and  Priscilla 
in  ''The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish."  We 
are  inclined  to  hold  in  contempt  the  Puritan 
customs,  but  somehow  there  yet  lingers  in 
our  hearts  a  resj^ect  for  Puritan  virtues.  It 
will  be  a  sad  day  for  our  land  when  we  come 
to  despise  those  virtues.  May  that  time 
never  come! 

It  will  be  profitable  to  analyze  this  scene 
in  the  poem  and  discover  what  those  elements 
are  which  create  its  wholesome  atmosphere 
and  provide  its  sweet  music.  Aside  from 
some  minor  features,  which  need  not  be  men- 
tioned, there  are  three  chief  elements  discov- 
erable here  which  give  richness  to  the  scene 
and  provide   practical   suggestions.     These 

54 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

three  mentioned  briefly  are:  Home,  Man- 
hood, and  God. 

Home  is  exhibited  as  the  center  of  grav- 
ity for  the  family  life.  In  ''The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night"  the  home  occupies  a  unique 
place.  It  has  an  undisputed  sway  over  these 
lives.  Toward  it  the  lives  of  all  the  members 
of  the  household  turn.  When  the  father's 
toil  is  ended  it  is  of  home  he  thinks,  and 
homeward  he  goes.  When  the  children  close 
the  work  of  the  week  it  is  of  home  they  think, 
and  toward  home  tliey  go.  Home  is  the  meet- 
ing-place of  the  members  of  the  family.  It 
is  the  center  of  the  social  life.  No  substitute 
for  the  home  is  offered  or  needed.  We  may 
be  unconscious  of  it,  but  it  is  nevertheless 
true  that  this  striking  exhibition  of  the  home 
is  one  element  of  ''The  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night"  that  endears  it  to  our  hearts  and 
causes  us  to  love  the  poem.  This  poem 
speaks  in  loud  language  the  value  of  the 
home  as  a  center  of  family  life. 

To  substitute  other  institutions  or  places 
for   the   home   is   a   dangerous   proceeding. 

55 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

When  a  child  comes  to  the  place  where  it 
goes  home  only  when  there  is  no  place  else 
to  go,  when  other  places  and  attractions  are 
exalted  and  the  home  despised,  it  has  come 
to  a  dangerous  place.  Let  home  be  a  spot 
loved  by  every  child.  The  parent,  too,  needs 
to  realize  the  importance  of  making  the  home 
so  attractive  that  the  children  love  it.  The 
cotter  was  wise  in  this  respect.  The  most 
effective  sphere  for  the  moral  training  is  the 
home.  The  home  molds  the  child  that  makes 
the  man.  Its  influence  should  be  the  best. 
The  education  should  begin  early.  A  mother 
asked  a  minister  when  she  should  begin  the 
education  of  her  child,  who  was  then  four 
years  old.  He  replied,  '^  Madam,  if  you  have 
not  already  begun  you  have  lost  those  four 
years."  The  advent  of  the  child  is  the  sig- 
nal for  the  process  of  home  education  and 
home  influence  to  begin.  No  better  compli-. 
ment  can  be  paid  home  or  parents  than  to 
find  the  children  loving  the  home  and  longing 
to  abide  beneath  its  roof. 

The  crime  of  modem  society  is  the  at- 

56 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

tempted  dethronement  of  the  home.  There 
are  various  substitutes  which  society  is  of- 
fering for  the  home  circle.  Chief  among 
these  may  be  mentioned  the  club  and  the 
lodge.  There  is  certainly  a  legitimate  place 
in  society  for  the  club  and  the  lodge,  but 
when  these  become  a  substitute  for  the  home, 
or  in  any  way  usurp  the  authority  of  the 
home,  then  ihej  have  become  a  menace  to 
society.  The  home  is  injured  then  by  their 
presence.  When  a  man  belongs  to  so  many 
lodges  that  he  has  no  night  in  the  week  for 
his  family,  he  is  guilty  of  a  gross  transgres- 
sion. When  a  woman  is  so  absorbed  in  clubs 
that  she  neglects  the  interests  of  her  chil- 
dren and  forgets  the  joj  of  home  life,  she 
has  become  intemperate  in  her  conduct  and 
is  making  herself  a  curse  rather  than  a  bless- 
ing. There  are  some  homes  literally  clubbed 
to  death,  and  some  communities  have  met  the 
same  fate.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
some  of  these  club-dazed  people  to  take  down 
''The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  and  see  in 
it  a  picture  of  the  best  club  under  heaven, 

57 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

the  home  cliih,  and  ask  themselves  if  it  would 
not  be  a  good  idea  to  start  a  club  of  that  kind. 
The  best  club  on  earth  is  the  home  club. 

Manhood  is  exalted  in  this  poem  as  the 
worthy  guardian  of  home  and  nation.  In 
the  scene  presented  the  cotter  is  the  chief 
character,  and  the  cotter  is  a  7nan.  He  is 
poor,  but  a  man.  Not  learned  is  he,  but  a 
man.  He  is  a  man  whose  presence  graces 
and  dignifies  the  home  circle  and  whose  char- 
acter gives  strength  to  the  land  he  loves. 
Note  some  of  the  elements  of  his  manhood. 
He  has  loyalty  to  and  love  for  his  home.  He 
is  in  his  element  in  the  presence  of  wife  and 
children.  Home  is  the  dearest  spot  on  earth 
to  him.  That  is  an  evidence  of  manhood.  It 
is  no  evidence  of  manhood  to  belittle  the 
home  and  imagine  that  it  is  a  good  place  for 
women  and  children,  but  that  men  had  bet- 
ter be  on  the  street  or  in  the  lodge,  club,  or 
saloon.  The  man  who  exalts  his  home  and 
is  proud  of  his  family  is  one  who  has  the 
fine  fiber  of  manhood.  But  the  man  who 
counts  it  a  weakness  to  stay  around  home 

58 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

and  associate  with  his  family  is  one  who  lacks 
in  the  essential  elements  of  manhood. 

Our  cotter  was  also  a  man  of  clean  per- 
sonality. There  are  some  things  conspicu- 
ous for  their  absence  from  this  scene.  There 
is  no  portrayal  of  our  cotter  crowned  with 
a  halo  of  tobacco  smoke.  No  profanity  is 
heard  falling  from  his  lips.  No  fumes  of 
whisky  are  detected  on  his  breath.  It  would 
be  extremely  difficult  to  associate  such  things 
with  this  picture  of  the  cotter.  He  is  a  clean 
man.  There  are  some  practices  in  the  pres- 
ent days  which  are  commonly  associated  with 
manhood,  but  which  lack  much  of  being 
manly.  They  are  unclean  and  senseless. 
Manhood  is  impaired  by  their  indulgence. 
Manhood  at  its  best  is  clean  and  rational.  It 
does  not  stoop  to  injurious  practices  merely 
because  they  happen  to  be  common.  Any  un- 
clean, injurious  practice  prevents  reaching 
the  highest  ideal  of  manhood  just  to  that  de- 
gree in  which  the  practice  is  indulged.  Our 
cotter  was  manly  because  he  was  free  from 
injurious  habits. 

59 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITEKATUKE 

Again,  the  cotter  was  a  manly  man  be- 
cause he  possessed  a  religious  spirit.  A 
striking  thing  is  said  of  him.  He  took  the 
Word  of  God,  turned  its  pages,  and  presided 
at  the  family  altar  with  ''patriarchal  grace." 
Something  priestly  is  in  his  make-up.  He  is 
at  home  with  the  Sacred  Book  and  while  min- 
istering concerning  divine  things.  He  talks 
with  the  children  of  things  religious.  A  wise 
father  he !  If  fathers  more  universally  were 
able  to  minister  and  talk  as  this  cotter,  the 
lives  of  the  children  would  be  safer.  It  is 
said  that  Voltaire  was  once  discussing  his 
skeiotical  ideas  with  some  friends  at  his  table, 
when  he  suddenly  exclaimed:  ''Hush,  gentle- 
men, till  the  servants  are  gone.  If  they  be- 
lieved as  we  talk,  none  of  our  lives  would 
be  safe."  Anti-religious  views  furnish  little 
safety  for  morals  or  for  lives.  But  faith 
in  God  is  a  guarantee  of  safety  for  both. 
Happy  the  father  who  can  teach  that  faith 
to  his  children.  Our  cotter  could  so  teach  it. 
He  has  manhood,  because  he  loves  his  home; 
he  is  clean  in  his  life  and  is  on  familiar  terms 

CO 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

with  God.  Burns  could  not  realize  that  man- 
hood in  bis  own  life,  but  be  was  wise  to 
picture  it  as  tbe  crowning  glory  of  tbe  cot- 
ter's life. 

God  at  tbe  fireside  is  tbe  guarantee  of  a 
nation's  glory  and  permanence.  It  is  after 
describing  tbe  scene  in  wbicb  faitb,  prayer, 
and  tbe  Word  of  God  form  so  large  a  part, 
tbat  tbe  poet  says,  "From  scenes  like  tbese 
old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs,  tbat  makes 
her  loved  at  bome,  revered  abroad."  Tbis  is 
tbe  wise  deduction  from  tbe  entire  scene. 
Tbe  people  in  wbose  breasts  are  love  for 
bome  and  love  for  God  are  people  all  but 
invincible.  Tbey  are  tbe  liberty  lovers  and 
bome  defenders  of  tbe  world.  Read  history, 
and  it  will  be  seen  tbat  those  peoples  who 
have  revered  God  and  brought  Him  into  their 
homes  and  hearts  are  tbe  peoples  against 
whom  tyranny  has  had  to  wage  its  hardest 
fight.  The  yoke  of  oppression  has  ever 
rested  uneasily  upon  their  shoulders.  They 
have  been  patriotic,  brave,  and  persistent  in 
their  struggle  for  liberty.    Witness  such  peo- 

61 


THE  G08PEL  IN  LITERATURE 

pies  as  those  of  Switzerland,  South  Africa, 
and  this  loyal  little  land  of  Scotland.  God 
at  the  fireside  has  given  strength  to  national 
life  and  to  individual  greatness.  It  is  in  the 
presence  of  the  divine  that  the  greatest  ideas 
have  been  born  and  the  greatest  works  have 
been  performed.  Among  the  great  paintings 
at  Florence  are  the  angels  of  Fra  Angelico. 
They  are  said  to  have  been  painted  when  the 
artist  was  on  his  knees  praying  and  rever- 
ently pursuing  his  work.  They  were  born  of 
prayer.  In  speaking  of  the  splendor  of  this 
work  Michael  Angelo  said,  "Surely  the  good 
brother  visited  Paradise  and  was  allowed  to 
choose  his  models  there."  Yes,  his  models 
were  chosen  there.  His  work  was  done  in  a 
divine  atmosphere.  Here  is  a  message  from 
"The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  that  the 
best  life  is  lived  and  the  best  work  is  done 
in  the  divine  presence.  This  poem  is  loud 
in  its  cry  to  enthrone  God  in  the  home  and 
in  the  individual  life. 

It  is  in  this  strain  that  Burns  closes  the 
poem.    The  last  verse  is  a  prayer  that  God 

62 


THE  COTTEE'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

may  continue  to  abide  within  the  land  the 
poet  loves. 

"O  Thou!   who  poured  the  patriotic  tide 
That  streamed  through  Wallace's  undaunted  heart; 
Who  dared  to  nobly  stem  tryannic  pride, 
Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part, 
(The  patriot's  God,  peculiarly  Thou  art. 
His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward!) 
O,  never,  never,  Scotia's  realm  desert." 

This  is  his  prayer.  And  here  is  one  of 
the  messages  of  the  poem  to  us,— that  God 
must  be  our  abiding  help  if  our  land  and  lives 
are  to  be  their  best  and  safest. 

Give  God's  Word  the  place  it  deserves 
as  the  foundation  of  our  faith  and  as  the 
guide  for  our  feet.  Do  not  get  the  idea  that 
the  Bible  is  obsolete.  Its  interpretation  may 
be  a  matter  of  variation  in  some  minor  de- 
tails, but  its  truth  will  forever  stand  unhurt 
by  all  the  charges  of  criticism  or  of  skepti- 
cism. This  little  verse  is  a  gem  of  prophecy 
and  of  faith : 

**Last  eve  I  paused  beside  a  blacksmith's  door. 
And  heard  the  anvil  ring  the  vesper  chime  ; 
Then,  looking  in,  I  saw  upon  the  floor 

Old  hammers  worn  with  beating  years  of  time. 

63 


ft 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

'How  many  anvils  have  you  had,'    said  I, 
'  To  wear  and  batter  all  these  hammers  so  ?  ' 

*  Just  one,'  he  answered,  then  with  twinkling  eye; 
'The^anvii  wears  ^he  hammers  out,  you  know.' 

And  so,  I  thought,  the  anvil  of  God's  Word 
For  ages  skeptic  blows  have  beat  upon  ; 

Yet  though  the  noise  of  falling  blows  were  heard, 
The  anvil  is  unworn — the  hammers  gone." 


God's  Word  is  an  anvil  upon  which  the 
blows  of  opposition  may  fall  without  avail. 
It  will  remain  when  the  hammers  are  gone. 
Hged  the  message  of  this  poem  and  exalt  the 
Word  to  its  ri^iitful  place  in  the  life  of  home 
and  la,nd. 

Likewise  give  ivorship  of  God  the  place 
it  deserves.  This  message,  too,  the  poem 
speaks.  We  need  the  old-time  faith  and 
praise,  secret  prayer,  the  family  altar,  God 
at  the  fireside.  Let  this  religious  devotion 
exist,  and  we  will  have  a  land  freer  of  greed 
and  graft,  and  blessed  with  a  pennanence 
which  neither  time  nor  foes  can  endanger. 
Let  the   scene   of  "The   Cotter's   Saturday 

64 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 

Night"  be  repeated  all  over  our  land.  Exalt 
worship.  Revere  the  Word.  Give  God  a 
chance.  Our  lives  will  be  cleaner.  Our  his- 
tory will  become  more  glorious.  Our  Nation 
will  be  more  secure.    Give  God  a  chance. 


65 


Ill 

THE  VILLAGE  PARSON, 
FROM 
GOLDSMITH'S  ''DESERTED  VIL- 
LAGE" 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON, 
FROM 
GOLDSMITH'S  "DESERTED  VIL- 
LAGE" 

Oliver  Goldsmith,  author  of  ''The  Deserted 
Village,"  was  an  enigma.  The  study  of  his 
character  is  an  unfailing  source  of  interest, 
because  it  reveals  a  puzzle  hard  to  solve.  As 
one  reads  his  life  he  is  filled  with  astonish- 
ment and  wonder;  astonishment  that  one  so 
worthless,  seemingly,  could  ever  command 
the  respect  of  the  literary  world ;  and  wonder 
as  to  what  sort  of  a  creature  the  man  really 
was.  Was  he  a  blockhead  or  a  genius?  Was 
he  a  knave  or  a  saint?  Was  he  a  reformer 
or  a  fool? 

His  was  a  life  in  which  nature  mingled 
some  queer  ingredients  and  through  which 
she  played  some  queer  capers.    He  was  good 

69 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

and  bad.  He  was  wise  and  foolish.  He  acted 
strangely  and  wrote  beautifully.  His  queer- 
ness  began  with  boyhood.  He  was  known  in 
school  as  a  dull  boy,  and  even  in  college 
rested  under  the  stigma  of  being  an  inferior 
student.  As  a  boy,  however,  he  showed  some 
genius  for  poetry  and  wrote  verses,  consign- 
ing them  to  the  flames  almost  as  fast  as  he 
wrote  them.  As  a  man  he  showed  much  vac- 
illation and  lack  of  purpose,  mingled  with  a 
reckless  disposition.  He  chose  companions 
who  were  bad,  and  formed  unfortunate  hab- 
its. Often  his  reckless  ways  brought  him 
into  difficulty  and  reaped  severe  condemna- 
tion. But  withal  he  had  a  heart  so  big  and 
a  spirit  so  good  at  the  bottom  that  a  multi- 
tude of  his  sins  were  covered.  At  one  time 
he  essayed  to  study  law,  and  fifty  pounds 
were  given  him  by  an  uncle,  with  which  to 
begin  his  education;  but  he  lost  the  money 
at  a  gaming  house  before  he  reached  the 
school.  Again,  he  studied  medicine,  and 
practiced  it  in  a  suburb  of  London  for  a  year 
or  more;  but  he  amounted  to  little  more  than 

70 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

a  quack  doctor,  and  soon  gave  up  the  profes- 
sion. Again,  he  traveled  through  some  Euro- 
pean countries  on  foot,  with  his  harp,  and 
sang  and  played,  supporting  himself  as  a 
tramp  musician.  Thus  from  one  calling  and 
attempt  to  another  he  drifted,  like  a  feather 
blown  by  the  wind.  But  meanwhile  he  pos- 
sessed a  heart  of  love  and  had  the  music  of 
poetry  in  his  soul.  And  when  he  surrendered 
himself  to  the  good  that  was  in  him,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  singing  of  the  Muses,  he  gained 
the  attention  of  the  world.  And  to-day  he 
has  the  distinction  of  being  one  of  the  most 
loved  writers  in  English  literature.  But,  as 
in  the  case  of  Burns,  while  we  may  love  the 
poems  we  find  ourselves  compelled  to  apolo- 
gize for  the  poet. 

"The  Deserted  Village,"  in  which  the  de- 
scription of  the  Village  Parson  occurs,  is 
said  to  be  the  finest  poem  Goldsmith  ever 
wrote.  It  was  written  to  express  the  poet's 
sorrow  at  the  decay  of  rural  scenes  and  peas- 
ant life,  while  luxury  and  pomp  seemed  to 
flourish.    It  is  in  one  view  a  poetic  treatise 

71 


THE  aOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

on  political  economy.  The  view  of  Goldsmith 
has  been  criticised  as  being  unwarranted,  yet 
we  need  to  remember  that  the  dangers  Gold- 
smith decried  in  this  poem  one  hundred  and 
forty  years  ago  (1770)  are  the  veiy  dangers 
we  are  crying  out  the  loudest  against  to-day. 
The  two  great  social  and  political  evils  we 
decry  to-day  are  the  dangers  of  wealth 
amassed  in  the  hands  of  the  few,  and  the 
danger  of  a  decayed  citizenship  exhibited 
in  dishonesty  and  graft.  Now  listen  to 
Goldsmith's  deliverance  concerning  these 
evils : 

111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay. 
Princes  and  lords  may  flourish  or  may  fade — 
A  breath  can  make  them  as  a  breath  has  made — 
But  the  bold  peasantry,  a  country's  pride, 
When  once  destroyed  can  never  be  supplied." 

To  all  of  which  the  majority  of  us  will  say, 
"Amen."  When  that  day  comes  in  which 
wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay,  a  dan- 
gerous day  is  at  hand  for  any  nation.  Man- 
hood enshrined  in  poverty  is  a  better  safe- 

72 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

guard  for  a  nation  than  degeneracy  clotlied 
in  wealth. 

The  ''village"  described  by  Groldsmith 
as  having  become  deserted  and  fallen  into 
decay  is  generally  sujoposed  to  be  Lissoy,  in 
County  Westmeath,  Ireland,  a  village  where 
his  father,  who  was  a  minister,  once  had  a 
parish.  It  is  not  supposed  that  the  descrip- 
tion is  true  to  the  actual  condition  of  the 
village,  but  rather  that  the  village  furnished 
the  material  and  suggestion  for  the  poet's 
imaginative  description.  The  village  was 
once  the  poet's  home,  and  in  his  thought  he 
sees  wealth  accumulate  and  men  decay  until 
the  village  is  deserted,  her  landmarks  re- 
moved, the  old  home  place  destroyed.  The 
poet  had  hoped,  after  the  long  and  wild 
wanderings  of  his  life  were  over,  to  find 
a  resting-place  and  burial  spot  here  in  old 
age. 


(( 


And  as  the  hare  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue. 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew ; 
So  had  I  hoped,  life's  long  vexation  past. 
Here  to  return  and  die  at  home  at  last." 

73 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

But  now  all  is  changed.  Tliis  hope  is 
blighted,  and  the  poet,  as  he  looks  upon  the 
deserted  village,  cries: 

**Thy  sports  are  fled  and  all  thy  charms  with- 
drawn. 
Amidst  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen 
And  desolation  covers  all  the  green." 

That  word  "desolation"  seems  to  contain 
the  burden  of  the  poet's  complaint.  The  vil- 
lage is  all  desolation.  And  so  will  be  the  land 
in  the  moral  and  material  sense,  when  wealth 
accumulates  with  the  few  and  men  decay. 

It  is  not  with  the  poem  as  a  whole,  how- 
ever, that  we  are  concerned,  but  with  the 
description  of  one  character  who  lived  in 
this  village  in  the  days  of  its  prime.  It  is 
the  village  parson.  This  is  one  of  tlie  most 
beautiful  descriptions  of  one  of  the  most 
saintly  characters  found  in  literature.  And 
the  question  instantly  arises,  ''Where  did 
Goldsmith  get  his  model?"  A  suggested  an- 
swer may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  Gold- 
smith's father  was  a  preacher  in  the  village 
of  this  poem;  and  while  there  is  no  positive 

74 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

historic  evidence  to  determine  this  point,  we 
may  infer  that  just  as  the  village  of  his 
youth  suggested  the  village  of  the  poem,  so 
the  father  of  his  youth  suggested  the  parson 
of  the  poem.  Mrs.  Hodson,  a  sister  of  Gold- 
smith, believed  the  ''parson"  to  be  a  por- 
trait of  the  father.  If  this  is  the  case,  here 
is  one  of  the  finest  compliments  ever  paid 
by  a  son  to  his  father.  It  is  suggestive  of 
an  incident  in  the  life  of  General  Lew  Wal- 
lace. In  ''Ben  Hur"  he  portrayed  a  beauti- 
ful character,  the  mother.  When  the  book 
was  finished  Wallace  requested  his  step- 
mother to  read  the  story,  and  asked  for  her 
opinion.  She  replied  that  the  book  was  a 
beautiful,  rare  story,  and  that  the  character 
of  t'he  mother  was  magnificent.  And  then 
she  said,  "Son,  how  in  the  world  did  you 
ever  get  your  conception  of  a  mother  like 
that  ? ' '  The  son  replied, ' '  Mother,  do  n  't  you 
know  it  is  a  picture  of  your  own  dear  self?" 
And  if  the  father  of  Goldsmith  had  asked 
where  his  son  got  his  conception  of  the  vil- 
lage parson,  he  could  doubtless  have  said, 

75 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

''Father,  it  is  a  picture  of  your  own  dear 
self."  That  father's  influence  doubtless  had 
more  to  do  with  the  successful  outcome  of 
the  waj-ward  boy's  life  than  we  know.  What 
would  have  been  the  ultimate  end  of  such  a 
reckless  nature  had  it  not  been  steadied  by 
a  vision  of  a  father  saintly  and  good?  Per- 
haps the  good  had  been  entirely  submerged 
and  Goldsmith's  name  had  never  been 
known;  for  visions  of  such  parents'  lives 
have  a  wonderful  restraining  influence  on  the 
lives  of  reckless  children. 

This  incident  was  once  related  in  an  ad- 
dress by  the  Rev.  Newell  Dwight  Hillis : 

''Recently  an  old  man  gave  us  the  story 
of  his  wonderful  career.  In  an  hour  of  temp- 
tation he  determined  to  disappear  from  his 
home  and  city,  to  forswear  every  duty,  and 
to  turn  his  back  on  honor.  In  his  madness 
he  went  to  the  railway  station,  for  the  new 
career  was  now  to  begin.  But  suddenly,  as  he 
stepped  from  the  carriage,  he  thought  he  saw 
his  old  father,  long  since  dead,  standing  in 

76 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

the  door  of  the  station.  The  father  lifted  his 
right  hand,  and  the  youth  lieard  a  voice  say- 
ing, '  My  son,  go  back !  Go  back!'  The  man 
turned  and  fled  as  though  an  angel  with  a 
flaming  sword  had  waved  it  in  his  face.  An 
hour  later,  and  once  more  he  had  taken  up 
his  accustomed  task.  But  from  that  day  he 
looked  back  to  the  event  as  to  a  moment 
when  his  feet  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  preci- 
pice. He  tells  us  that  forty  years  have  come 
and  gone  since  that  weak  hour,  and  that  he 
still  believes  that  vision  was  vouchsafed  to 
preserve  his  soul." 

To  some  of  us  that  reads  like  the  history 
of  our  own  experience,  for  at  the  moment  of 
a  great  temptation,  when  we  were  about  to 
enter  a  pathway  of  sin  and  ruin^  the  vision 
of  a  saintly  father  or  mother  has  stood 
across  our  patliway  and  said,  "Go  back!" 
and  we  have  gone  back  to  honor  and  a  bet- 
ter life.  Here  is  an  obligation  of  parent- 
hood, to  make  possible  a  vision  before  the 
child  that  shall  say  in  an  hour  of  danger, 

77 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

''Go  back."  God  pity  the  child  who  can 
have  no  such  vision  as  that  because  he  has 
no  such  parents  as  that! 

When  one  reads  ''The  Deserted  Village," 
it  is  the  picture  of  the  Parson  that  rises 
above  everytliing  else.  Goldsmith  himself 
compared  this  noble  life  to  some  tall  cliff  that 
lifts  its  awful  form,  swelling  from  the  vale 
and  midway  leaving  the  storm-, 

Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are 

spread 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 

JLtiterally  that  describes  the  position  of 
this  character  as  this  writer  sees  it  in  its  re- 
lation to  the  rest  of  the  poem.  It  rises  like 
the  tall  cliff  above  the  stoinn  and  clouds  of 
other  environments.  The  decay  of  sweet 
Auburn,  the  character  of  the  stem  school- 
master, the  prophesied  decay  of  the  land,  all 
sink  into  the  valley  beneath  the  clouds,  while 
the  character  of  the  village  parson  rises  into 
the  upper  sunshine.  Let  us  note  the  beauti- 
ful description  and  analyze  the  character  and 

78 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

discover  the  elements  which  add  beauty  and 
greatness  to  this  life. 

Of  the  village  parson,   Goldsmith  says: 

**A  man  he  was  to  ail  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
And  ne'er  had  chang'd  or  wish' d  to  change  his  place  ; 
Unpracticed  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power, 
By  doctrines  fashion' d  to  the  varying  hour; 
For  other  aims  his  heart  had  learn' d  to  prize, 
More  skill' d  to  raise  the  fallen  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train. 
He  chid  their  wanderings  but  relieved  their  pain ; 
The  long  remember' d  beggar  was  his  guest, 
Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast ; 
The  ruin'd  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud. 
Claim' d  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allow' d; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay. 
Sate  by  his  fire,  and  talk'd  the  night  away ; 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or  tales  of  sorrow  done. 
Shoulder' d  his  crutch,  and  shew'd  how  fields  were 

won. 
Pleas' d  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learn' d  to  glow. 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe : 
Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  lean'd  to  virtue's  side: 

79 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 

He  watch' d  and  wept,  he  pray'd  and  felt  for  all ; 

And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 

To  tempt  its  new-fledg'd  offspring  to  the  skies, 

He  tried  each  art,  reprov'd  each  dull  delay, 

Allur'd  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid. 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain,  by  turns  dismay' d, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.      At  his  control. 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whisper' d  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace. 

His  looks  adorn' d  the  venerable  place ; 

Truth  from  hi§  lips  prevail' d  with  double  sway. 

And  fools,  who  came  to  scoflf,  remain'd  to  pray. 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man. 

With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 

Even  children  follow' d,  with  endearing  wile, 

And  plucked  his  gown,    to  share    the  good   man's 

smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  exprest, 
Their  welfare  pleas' d  him,  and  their  cares  distrest ; 
To  thera  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs,  were  given. 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 

The  question  may  arise  as  to  why  the  de- 
scription of  the  village  parson  is  given  such 

80 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

a  prominent  place  in  the  poem.  The  answer 
may  not  be  far  to  seek  when  we  remember 
that  the  parson  was  perhaps  the  most  promi- 
nent character  in  the  village.  In  olden  days, 
even  to  a  greater  degree  than  to-day,  the 
minister  was  a  prominent  person  in  any  com- 
munity. He  was  a  leader  in  almost  every 
sense;  a  necessity  and  fixture.  In  our  study 
of  ''Enoch  Arden"  it  will  be  remembered 
we  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  poet 
gave  a  place  to  the  mill  and  the  church  in 
his  description  of  the  village.  In  his  poem, 
Goldsmith  does  the  same  in  the  opening 
lines.  It  is  natural,  for  these  are  the  essen- 
tial marks  of  civilization.  As  the  church  and 
mill  are  essentials  of  community  life,  so  the 
miller  and  the  minister  are  essentials.  Plu- 
tarch once,  after  traveling  far  and  wide,  came 
home  to  remark  that  he  had  found  cities 
without  walls,  literature,  coin,  or  kings— 
without  forum  or  theater ;  but  that  there  was 
no  city,  nor  would  there  ever  be  a  city,  with- 
out temple  or  church.  And  so  the  church  has 
ever  been  prominent,  the  minister  has  been 
8  81 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

lorominent.  Formerly  the  *' English  pulpit 
combined  the  functions  of  the  lecture,  the 
hall,  library,  newspaper,  and  books,"  says 
some  one,  and  truly.  The  minister  was 
the  source  of  information  in  all  these  ways. 
He  was  teacher,  lecturer,  news  agent,  and 
preacher  combined.  His  sphere  has  been 
narrowed  to-day  by  the  growth  of  books  and 
libraries,  by  the  multiplication  of  newspa- 
pers and  lecture  platform.  In  keeping  with 
the  spirit  of  the  age  the  minister's  work  has 
become  more  special  than  general.  He  is  to- 
day a  specialist  in  Biblical,  moral,  and  spir- 
itual lines.  He  is  no  longer  the  newspaper 
or  library  of  a  community ;  but  he  is  a  moral 
physician,  a  spiritual  light  and  hope,  a  right- 
eous d}Tiamo.  It  will  be  noticed  that  it  is 
in  this  light  that  Goldsmith  describes  the 
character  of  the  village  parson.  It  is  as  a 
moral  and  spiritual  leader;  a  character  so 
saintly  in  itself  that  it  stands  as  an  example, 
exhortation,  and  inspiration  to  every  one  who 
knew  the  life.  It  was  in  this  sense  tliat  the 
parson  was  especially  prominent  in  the  vil- 

82 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

lage,  and  therefore  be  is  prominent  in  the 
poem. 

But  the  Village  Parson  is  presented  at 
tJiis  time  for  the  sake  of  a  study  of  his  char- 
acter. Hence  to  the  analysis  of  the  charac- 
ter we  apply  ourselves. 

The  only  adverse  criticism  which  one  can 
imagine  as  being  offered  against  the  charac- 
ter is  that  its  elements  are  of  the  gentle, 
passive  kind  rather  than  the  active,  aggres- 
sive kind;  and  that  therefore  we  have  a 
character  effeminate  rather  than  stalwart. 
But  a  greater  mistake  would  be  difficult  to 
make.  Such  a  criticism  is  based  on  the  com- 
mon error  that  good  is  allied  with  weakness, 
and  that  wickedness  and  strength  of  charac- 
ter are  companions.  But  such  is  not  the  case. 
It  is  the  reverse  of  the  case.  Goodness  is 
streng-th,  though  it  may  make  no  commotion 
in  its  manifestation.  And  wickedness  is 
weakness,  though  it  may  make  much  commo- 
tion in  its  manifestation.  Men  have  said 
that  Christ's  character  lacked  the  sturdy, 
heroic  elements,  such  as  courage  and  endur- 

83 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

ance,  because  it  is  represented  as  pure  and 
meek  and  peaceful.  But  they  make  a  mis- 
take; for  when  the  need  came,  Christ  gave 
the  greatest  exhibition  of  courage  and  endur- 
ance the  world  has  ever  seen.  Witness  the 
agony  of  Gethsemane  and  the  crucifixion  on 
Calvary,  while  in  the  midst  of  it  all  the  spirit 
of  the  man  remained  true  and  unruffled. 
That  was  heroism  of  the  highest  type.  And 
the  truly  heroic  spirit  is  stored  up  in  the 
character  that  is  pure  and  good  and  gentle. 
And  when  the  need  comes,  such  a  character 
will  show  it  has  the  sterner  virtues  and  has 
the  stuff  of  which  heroes  are  made. 

Such  is  our  Village  Parson.  He  has  the 
gentler  qualities  of  a  saintly  character,  but 
these  are  only  the  storehouse  of  the  more 
fiery  virtues.  You  can  trust  a  man  like  him 
anywhere.  Place  him  on  a  battlefield,  where 
the  interests  of  home  and  land  are  at  stake, 
and  he  will  fight  like  a  Phil  Sheridan.  Place 
him  in  a  crisis  where  terrors  appall  and  death 
lurks  near,  and  he  will  stand  with  firm  feet 

and  unblanched  face,  while  those  you  said 

84 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

were  possessed  of  tlie  sterner  virtues  will 
tremble  and  seek  a  coward's  retreat.  Such 
a  character  is  the  Village  Parson.  He  is  a 
saint  with  the  elements  of  a  hero. 

He  has  a  worthy  reputation.    ' '  A  man  he 
was  to  all  the  country  dear."     Everybody 
loved  him  because  everybody  spoke  well  of 
him;   he  had   a   splendid   reputation.     And 
herein  is  a  compliment  paid  not  only  to  the 
parson,  but  to  the  community;  for  a  good 
reputation  is  a  joint  product  of  a  good  man 
and  a  good  people.     Have  you  thought  of 
that?    We  imagine  sometimes  that  a  reputa- 
tion is  determined  by  the  individual  himself, 
but  it  is  not.    His  character  is ;  but  his  repu- 
tation is  determined  largely"  by  the  commu- 
nity, and  that  because  people  will  see  other 
lives   so  much  in  the  mirror  of  their  own 
lives.    It  would  be  impossible  for.i.an  angel 
to  have  an  unquestioned  reputation  in  a  com- 
munity of  devils;  they  would  see  the  angel 
in  the  mirror  of  their  own  lives.    Christ  did 
not  have  a  firstrclass  reputation  with  some 
people.     They  said  He  was  in  league  with 

85 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Beelzebub.  They  said  it  because  they  were 
themselves  in  league  with  Beelzebub.  And 
so  it  often  happens  that  a  good  man  is  given 
a  bad  name,  slandered,  because  of  the  bad- 
ness in  which  he  lives.  We  can't  always  de- 
termine our  reputation,  but  we  can  deter- 
mine our  character;  and  it  is  a  comfort  to 
remember  that  Almighty  God  doesn't  care 
a  fig  about  the  reputation,  but  He  does  care 
everything  about  the  character. 

Now,  the  Village  Parson  was  fortunate 
in  having  a  good  reputation;  but  he  was 
more  fortunate  in  having  a  good  character. 
There  is  but  one  expression  that  will  fitly  de- 
scribe this  character,  and  that  is,  ''The 
Saintly  Character." 

There  are  many  traits  of  character  here, 
but  the  tenn  saintly  may  include  them  all. 
Here  are  such  virtues  as  purity,  love,  charity, 
truth,  faith,  holy  influence.  It  is  a  saintly 
life;  the  kind  we  admire,  though  we  may  not 
realize  the  ideal;  the  kind  which  makes  a 
community  rich,  though  its  worth  may  go  un- 
noted. 

86 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

Notice  the  Parson's  integrity— absolute 
Tightness.  Here  is  a  man  clean,  honest,  trust- 
worthy. He  has  passed  the  point  of  com- 
promise with  any  form  of  worldliness  or 
wrong.  "E'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's 
side."  What  a  volume  of  history  is  written 
in  those  words!  Write  them  in  your  mind 
and  heart,  and  if  you  remember  nothing 
more  of  this  address  or  of  the  Village  Par- 
son, remember  this:  He  was  the  man  of 
whom  it  wa,s  said,  ''E'en  his  failings  leaned 
to  virtue's  side."  Here  is  a  confession  we 
must  all  make — failings  are  our  heritage  in 
this  life.  None  of  us  is  absolutely  perfect. 
When  any  one  preaches  the  doctrine  of  a  per- 
fection that  releases  from  all  defects  and  fail- 
ings, he  is  witnessing  against  himself  that  he 
is  ignorant  of  the  Bible  and  human  nature. 
We  will  have  failings.  But  here  is  the  re- 
deeming consideration:  we  can,  if  we  will, 
ordain  that  these  failings  lean  to  the  side  of 
virtue  rather  than  vice.  Better  be  criticised 
for  leaning  too  far  toward  right  than  too  far 
toward  wrong;  and  it  will  be  for  one  or  the 

87 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

other  you  will  be  criticised.  If  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  intemperance,  better  be  called  a  tee- 
totaler than  a  moderate  drinker.  The  results 
are  mucli  better.  Doctor  Torrey  in  one  of  his 
addresses  gives  this  testimony:  "I  recall  a 
moderate  drinker  who  I  don't  think  was 
ever  intoxicated  in  his  life.  He  despised  a 
drunkard,  but  he  laughed  at  the  abstainer. 
That  man  had  three  sons.  Every  one  of  the 
three  became  a  drunkard."  Better  had  it 
been  for  him  to  have  been  called  a  teetotaler! 

If  it  is  a  question  of  honesty,  better  be 
called  too  scrupulous  than  dishonest.  If  it 
is  a  question  of  religion,  better  be  called  too 
careful  of  conduct  than  be  classified  with  a 
crowd  of  worldlings.  AYhen  you  are  passed 
the  way  of  all  the  world  there  is  no  more 
glorious  tribute  that  can  be  chiseled  in  the 
marble  above  your  dust  than  this,  "His  fail- 
ings leaned  to  virtue's  side,"  for  in  that  all 
may  read  a  life  clean,  honest,  true. 

Unselfishness  is  prominent  here.  He  was 
unselfish  in  his  ambition  and  possessions,— 
"rich  at  forty  pounds  (two  hundred  dollars) 

88 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

per  year."  * ' Unpracticed  to  seek  for  power 
by  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour. ' ' 
Not  his  desire  was  it  to  be  the  builder  of  a 
city,  or  the  leader  of  an  army,  or  the  master 
of  millions,  or  by  the  achievement  of  some 
great  feat  to  have  his  name  forever  inscribed 
on  the  pages  of  history.  His  spirit  was  like 
the  Master's,  of  whom  a  great  skeptic  said, 
"No  man  allowed  the  interests  of  humanity 
to  predominate  over  the  interests  of  self-love 
so  much  as  He."  The  Village  Parson  had 
caught  the  Master's  spirit.  Up  Calvary's 
side  with  his  Lord  he  had  marched  and  nailed 
self-interests  to  the  tree,  and  as  self-interests 
were  crucified,  humanity's  interests  were  res- 
urrected. So  there  grew  up  the  spirit,  too, 
of  altruism. 

Altruism  is  prominent  here,  and  this  is 
but  the  reverse  side  of  unselfishness— and 
these  two  are  philanthropy.  Philanthropy 
is  an  open  hand,  the  back  of  which  is  unself- 
ishness, the  palm  of  which  is  altruism.  The 
Village  Parson  was  a  philanthropist.  He 
had  altruism.    ''To  relieve  the  wretched  was 

89 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

liis  pride."  "He  watched,  and  wept,  and 
prayed,  and  felt  for  all."  He  ser\^ed.  And 
here  is  a  great  crying  need  of  the  present 
day;  a  service  not  for  self  utterly,  but  for 
others  much.  The  world  is  self-crazy.  It  has 
forgotten  the  brother.  Man  has  forgotten 
that  he  is  his  brother's  keeper.  He  has  for- 
gotten that  he  ha^  a  brother.  This  is  the 
crime  for  which  our  brothers'  blood  will  cry 
out  against  many  of  us  at  the  bar  of  God. 
He  who  is  blessed  with  time  and  talent,  and 
uses  it  all  on  self  while  the  world  suffers,  is 
guilty.  He  who  has  money  and  spends  it 
all  on  self  and  none  for  the  good  of  mankind, 
is  a  sinner  before  God.  The  commonest  sin 
of  the  world  is  selfishness.  It  is  the  sin  of 
which  the  saloonkeeper  is  guilty.  The  gam- 
bler is  guilty  of  it.  The  thief  and  murderer 
are  guilty  of  selfishness.  Christians  who 
have  a  good  time,  while  God's  cause  halts 
and  the  world  himgers,  are  guilty  of  it.  It  is 
the  common  sin.  Refreshing  is  it  to  find  a 
man  like  this,  of  whom  it  may  be  said,  "To 
relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride." 

90 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

Godliness  was  the  climax  of  liis  character. 
God  was  his  theme.  To  lead  to  God  was  his 
business.  *'A11  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest 
in  heaven."  He  "allured  to  brighter  worlds 
and  led  the  way."  Here  was  a  man  who  had 
friendly  intercourse  with  God.  Like  the  te- 
legrapher who  sits  at  his  key  and  feels  that 
the  clicking  sounds  are  registered  off  yonder 
in  the  silence  and  distance,  he  lived  at  the 
keyboard  of  prayer,  and  when  he  touched  the 
instrument  he  knew  that  off  yonder  in  the 
station  by  the  Throne  the  message  was  re- 
ceived; and  as  he  waited,  back  the  answer 
came.  We  talk  of  wireless  telegraphy  as 
though  it  were  something  new.  It  is  not 
new;  it  is  as  old  as  the  ages.  With  it  Abra- 
ham sent  his  petition  flying  over  the  doomed 
city  of  Sodom.  Moses  by  it  flung  his  voice 
far  beyond  Sinai's  flaming  summit;  John  by 
it  sent  his  word  across  the  sea  of  glass.  By 
it  to-day  from  all  points  of  the  compass  the 
prayers  leap  to  the  common  receiving  station 
at  the  courts  of  our  God,  and  answers  com© 
back  again.    Our  serious  thoughts,  too,  may 

91 


THE  GOSPEL  IX  LITERATURE 

find  rest  in  heaven.  And  tlius  are  earth  and 
heaven  linked  together.  The  saiatly  life 
must  be  a  life  of  prayer. 

Such  lives  as  these  are  those  which  men 
love  and  ujDon  which  God  can  depend.  When 
one  reads  a  description  like  this  and  lays  the 
book  aside  and  sits  in  silence  a  moment,  he 
almost  expects  to  hear  a  voice  from  the  heav- 
ens saying,  ''This  is  a  beloved  son  in  whom 
I  am  well  pleased,"  for  we  feel  that  God  is 
pleased  with  and  can  depend  on  a  life  like 
this. 

A  traveler  crossing  the  ocean  recently  was 
/  caught  in  a  bad  stonn,  and  relates  this  ex- 
perience. He,  being  a  little  alarmed,  went 
up  to  the  captain  and  said,  '*  'Cap,  can  we 
weather  it?'  'Put  your  ear  to  that  tube,' 
was  the  reply.  I  did  so,  and  could  hear  the 
steady  'chug'  of  the  engines  as  they  per- 
formed tlieir  full  dutv.  'Down  there  '  he 
said,  'is  the  chief  engineer,  and  he^^elieves 
in  me.  I  'm  up  here,  and  I  believe  in  him. 
I  rather  guess  we  '11  ride  this  blow  out.'  " 
The  traveler  adds:  "I  did  not  Worry  anj 

92 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

more.    With  two  such  men  standing  together  ■ 
for  safety  of  ship  and  passengers,  I  was  con-  ] 
tent  to  go  to  my  stateroom  and  sleep  as  if  ) 
I  were  on  land."  i 

When  God  can  point  to  a  man  down  here 
and  say,  ' '  There  is  a  man  I  believe  in, ' '  and 
that  man  can  point  np  and  say,  ''There  is  a 
God  I  believe  in,"  you  have  a  combination 
that  guarantees  safety  and  service.  Let  the 
vessel  of  the  Church  be  manned  thus,  let  any 
righteous  cause  be  manned  thus,  and  the  out-  ; 
come  is  assured.  God  is  ever  trustworthy, 
but  what  He  wants  is  men,— men.  whom  He 
can  trust,  men  who  are  saintly  men. 

0,  for  saintly  men!  We  need  them  to 
walk  through  the  ranks  of  society,  that  iniq- 
uity-smitten men  may  touch  the  hem  of  their 
garments  and  feel  a  new  virtue  in  their  lives„ 
We  need  them  to  stand  in  the  realm  of  poli- 
tics with  faces  transformed  and  garments 
glistening  with  honor  and  truth,  until  greed 
and  graft  shall  become  fearful  and  afraid 
and  hide  their  faces  in  shame.  We  need  them 
to  walk  down  the  aisle  of  business,  exerting 

93 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

the  i^ower  of  righteous  influence  until  from 
tlie  bosom  of  unscrupulous  men  the  demons 
of  dishonesty,  deception,  and  trickery  shall 
run  to  drown  themselves  in  a  sea  of  dark- 
ness. 

But  the  road  to  that  saintly  life  is  the  one 
the  Village  Parson  traveled.  There  is  no 
other.  It  is  the  road  of  faith  and  prayer 
taught  in  God's  Word.  Let  me  therefore 
commend  to  all  this  Word  as  the  text-book 
and  guide  for  the  saintly  life.  Some  one  has 
called  it  the  book  of  two  pages,  a  red  page 
and  a  white  page.  The  red  page  is  the  blood 
of  Christ,  the  white  one  the  holiness  of  God. 
True.  Read  the  red  page,  and  you  see  the 
cleansing  from  unrighteousness,  for  the  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  Read 
the  white  page,  and  you  see  the  saintly  char- 
acter; we  shall  be  like  Him,  for  we  shall  see 
Him  as  He  is.  This  Book  is  the  way.  All 
the  good  have  trod  this  pathway.  The  saints 
of  ages  gone,  the  village  parson  and  all  his 
kind,  your  fathers,  your  mothers  have  read 
the  page  of  red  and  the  page  of  white;  and 

94 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

reading,  have  been  made  whole.  Dear  old 
Book!  Precious  Book!  Mother's  Book,  fa- 
ther's Book.  In  it  you  learn  the  way  to  the 
saintly  character  here— the  way  of  life  here- 
after. The  saintly  life  possessed  here  is  eter- 
nal life  possessed  herafter. 


95 


IV 

THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL; 

OR, 
THE  SACRAMENT  OF  DAILY  SERVICE 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL; 

OR, 
THE  SACRAMENT  OF  DAILY  SERVICE 

Bishop  Quayle  in  his  'Mean  Valjean"  says: 
**  Christ  lias  slipped  upon  tlio  world  as  a  tide 
slips  up  the  shores,  unnoted,  in  the  night; 
and  because  we  did  not  see  Him  come— His 
presence  is  not  apparent.  Nothing  is  so  big 
with  joy  to  Christian  thought  as  the  absolute 
omnipresence  of  Christ  in  the  world's  life." 
Let  us  grasp  this  thought  of  the  omnipres- 
ence of  God  in  the  world's  life.  When  the 
scientist  searches  far  in  nature  he  finds  much 
of  God  and  comes  back  to  tell  us  God  is 
everywhere.  And  when  the  student  of  lit- 
erature searches  the  libraries  of  the  Chris- 
tian nations  for  nineteen  centuries  past,  he 
finds  much  of  the  story  and  the  spirit  of  the 

99 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Christ  and  comes  back  to  tell  us  the  Christ- 
tide  has  been  slipping  up  the  shores  of  the 
centuries  and  that  it  has  come  into  the 
thought  and  books  of  men  until  the  world  is 
full  of  it. 

The  world  of  letters  is  big  with  the  spirit 
of  Christ.  There  is  a  strange  legend  of  a 
world  that  grew  colorless  in  a  single  night. 
The  color  faded  from  the  sky ;  the  sea  became 
pale  and  motionless ;  the  green  vanished  from 
the  grass  and  the  color  from  the  flowers ;  the 
fire  died  from  the  diamond,  and  the  pearl  lost 
its  light.  Nature  put  on  her  robes  of  mourn- 
ing, and  the  people  who  lived  there  became 
sad  and  afraid.  A  world  had  lost  its  life 
and  light.  If  to-night,  with  one  sweej^  of  the 
arm,  you  brush  from  literature  the  Christ, 
the  scenes  and  suggestions  from  His  life,  the 
spirit  which  He  exhibited,  the  principles  for 
which  He  stood,  you  would  have  a  world 
made  colorless  in  a  night.  It  would  be  the 
world  of  letters,  for  Christ  is  the  color 
thereof.  This  truth  is  forcefully  illustrated 
in  the  themes  we  have  presented  in  the  pre- 

100 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

ceding  pages.  Take  the  Christlike  love  out 
of  ''Enoch  Arden,"  and  what  have  you  left? 
Take  the  Christlike  faith  and  prayer  from 
''The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  and  the 
Christlike  character  from  the  Village  Par- 
son, and  you  have  nothing  left  but  faded 
flowers.  And  what  shall  we  say  of  the  "Vi- 
sion of  Sir  Launfal!"  Whatever  our  inter- 
pretation may  be,  we  all  agree  it  is  full  of 
the  Christ.  Take  Christ  from  it,  and  you 
have  left  only  a  soulless  thing. 

' '  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launf al ' '  has  its  roots 
deeply  buried  in  the  soil  of  history  and  po- 
etry, and  to  understand  the  nature  of  the 
poem  we  must  know  something  of  the  soil. 
The  background  of  the  poem  is  the  old  leg- 
end of  the  "Holy  Grail."  The  Holy  Grail 
was  the  cup  which  the  Lord  used  in  the  last 
supper  on  the  night  before  crucifixion.  An 
ancient  legend  declared  this  cup  was  secured 
by  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  who  wished  to  pre- 
serve something  which  belonged  to  Christ 
and  who  brought  it  to  England,  where  it  was 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation, 

101 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

being  committed  to  those  whose  lives  were 
holy.  But  in  the  course  of  time  the  cup  came 
into  unholy  hands  and  was  lost.  Thenceforth 
it  became  a  favorite  task  of  the  knights  of 
those  days  of  chivalry  to  go  in  quest  of  the 
Holy  Grail.  Legendary  accounts  of  these 
quests  became  rife.  They  employed  the  im- 
agination of  poets  and  historians,  who  in 
their  accounts  mingled  fact  with  legend  and 
romance  until  it  became  difficult  to  distin- 
guish one  from  the  other. 

In  the  sixth  centuiy  lived  a  semi-legen- 
dary king  known  as  King  Arthur,  who 
formed  in  his  court  a  round  table,  where  he 
assembled  many  noble  knights  who  per- 
fonned  many  noble  achievements.  There  are 
legends  of  the  attempts  of  these  knights  to 
find  the  Holy  Grail.  From  the  legendary  ac- 
counts of  this  round  table  Tennyson  wrote 
his  ''Idyls  of  the  King,"  among  which  is  the 
search  for  the  Holy  Grail.  It  was  from  Ten- 
nyson's Holy  Grail  that  Lowell  received  in- 
spiration for  ''The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal." 

In  Tennyson's  "Holy  Grail"  the  knights 

102 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

give  themselves  to  a  year's  search  for  the 
Grail,  and  three  of  them  are  able  to  catch 
a  vision  of  it ;  one  only  is  able  to  possess  it, 
Galahad.  And  here  is  the  pivotal  point  upon 
which  the  story  turns.  Two  were  not  able 
to  possess,  because  in  the  two  there  was  too 
much  of  sin  and  self.  But  the  third  found 
the  Grail,  because  he  had  been  willing  to  lose 
himself  to  find  it.  In  the  castle  of  the  king 
there  was  a  chair  known  as  Merlin's  chair,  in 
which,  if  one  sat,  he  lost  himself.  Galahad 
had  sat  within  the  chair,  for  he  would  lose 
himself  to  find  the  Grail.  Here  is  the  great 
thought  of  the  search  for  the  Grail— the  los- 
ing of  self.  And  this,  too,  is  a  chief  thought 
in  ''The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal." 

It  was  after  reading  the  * '  Holy  Grail ' '  of 
Tennyson  that  Lowell  began  writing  ''The 
Vision  of  Sir  Launfal."  He  wrote  in  the 
heat  of  inspired  passion.  He  himself  had 
caught  a  vision ;  for  it  is  difiicult  to  read  the 
*'Holy  Grail"  without  catching  a  vision  and 
feeling  a  new  inspiration.  Lowell  wrote  un- 
der inspiration.     In   about  two   days   this 

103 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

splendid  poem  in  its  finished  form  came  from 
his  heart  and  pen,  and  it  is  said  in  its  pro- 
duction he  hardly  took  time  to  eat  or  rest. 
In  the  glow  of  his  insj^iration  he  produced  a 
work  which  is  at  once  a  poem,  a  philosophy, 
and  a  theolog5^  It  is  profound ;  so  profound 
that  a  casual  reading  will  not  reveal  its 
riches.  They,  like  diamonds  and  gold,  must 
be  searched  for.  It  will  be  an  aid  to  our  un- 
derstanding of  the  poem  if  we  give  an  analy- 
sis and  explanation  of  it  before  we  enter 
deeper  into  its  philosophy. 

The  poem  may  be  divided  roughly  into 
five  divisions.  First  is  the  approach,  con- 
sisting of  the  first  verse  only.  Then  there 
is  a  prelude  to  part  one,  followed  by  part 
one  itself,  as  the  poet  has  arranged  it.  Then 
a  prelude  to  part  two,  followed  by  part  two 
itself.  Or,  to  put  it  in  another  way,  the 
poem  consists  of  the  approach,  two  introduc- 
tions, and  two  parts ;  five  divisions  in  all. 

The  approach.  This  is  the  first  stanza. 
We  have  given  it  a  separate  division  because 
it  has  no  essential  connection  with  the  theme 

104 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

of  the  poem,  but  is  rather  a  description  of 
the  poet's  approach  to  the  theme.  It  pic- 
tures a  musician  at  his  instrument,  letting 
his  fingers  wander  dreamily  over  the  keys  un- 
til the  very  inspiration  of  the  sounds  causes 
the  birth  of  a  more  definite  music  in  his  soul, 
and  his  wandering,  dreamy  notes  are  called 
in  from  far  awav  and  made  to  do  service  in 
expressing  the  real  theme  of  his  soul.  Thus 
the  poet  approaches  the  theme  of  his  produc- 
tion. Beginning  far  away  and  indefinitely, 
it  comes  nearer  and  nearer  and  becomes 
clearer,  and  under  the  inspiration  of  his 
dreaming  he  is  able  to  create  and  produce  the 
theme  of  this  splendid  poem.  But  the  poem 
itself  is  a  picture  of  inspired  effort  and 
achievement,  so  that  a  chain  of  inspiration 
runs  through  the  first  part  of  the  poem.  The 
organist  is  inspired  to  his  theme  by  the 
sound  of  his  music.  The  poet  is  inspired  to 
his  i^roduction  by  the  voices  of  legend  from 
afar  and  of  nature  and  life  near.  And  Sir 
Launf al  is  inspired  to  his  task  by  the  beauty 
and  brightness  of  a  June  day.     This  is  the 

105 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

general  method  of  approach.  The  first 
stanza  with  the  musician  is  the  suggestion 
of  it. 

The  introduction  to  part  one  continues 
the  thought  of  inspiration  as  it  concerns  the 
quest  of  Sir  Launfal.  The  argument  runs 
somewhat  like  this.  Not  only  in  our  infancy, 
as  another  poet  has  said,  do  heavenly  inspira- 
tions lie  about  us,  but  over  our  manhood  the 
skies  still  bend.  Heavenly  influences  are  still 
present.  They  are  freely  given.  Other  in- 
fluences cost  a  price.  ''Earth  gets  its  price 
for  what  Earth  gives  us. "  ' '  'T  is  heaven 
alone  that  is  given  away,  't  is  only  God  may 
be  had  for  the  asking."  And  one  of  heaven's 
richest  free  gifts  is  a  June  day.  ' '  June  may 
be  had  by  the  poorest  comer."  ''And  what 
is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June?"  It  is  heavenly 
inspiration  abundant.  It  is  this  inspiration 
of  the  June  day  that  causes  the  knight,  Sir 
Launfal,  to  undertake  his  search  for  the  Holy 
Grail ;  and  under  that  inspiration  he  prepares 
for  the  keeping  of  his  vow  and  the  beginning 
of  his  quest.    Thus  the  introduction  ends. 

106 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

Part  one  opens  with  Sir  Launfal  order- 
ing his  spurs  and  richest  mail,  for  to-morrow 
he  will  go  over  land  and  sea  in  search  of  the 
Holy  Grail.  But  to-night  he  will  sleep,  not 
on  a  soft  pillow,  but  on  a  bed  of  rushes,  hop- 
ing that  before  the  morning  comes  some  vi- 
sion will  be  vouchsafed  him  which  will  serve 
as  a  guide  in  his  quest  for  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  vision  came.  The  vision  is  given  in  the 
poem  as  naturally  as  though  it  were  real  his- 
tory; and  we  may,  for  the  sake  of  the  truth 
taught,  forget  it  was  a  vision  and  think  of 
the  story  as  real. 

Summer  sunshine  and  beauty  are  every- 
where as  Sir  Launfal  rides  forth  from  the 
castle— everywhere  except  in  the  castle  itself. 
But  it,  with  its  cold  wall,  its  dark  towers,  and 
closed  gates,  stands  as  an  "outpost  of  win- 
ter, dark  and  gray."  From  the  dark  tower 
Sir  Lamifal  dashes  forth,  mounted  on  his 
best  charger,  his  armor  glistening  as  though 
it  had  gathered  up  all  the  rays  of  the  sum- 
mer sun  and  flashed  them  forth  in  one  mighty 
blaze.    It  is  summer  everywhere.    But  as  Sir 

107 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Launfal  rides  forth  he  notes  by  the  sidi  of 
the  castle  gate  a  leper  crouching  on  the  earth 
and  begging  witli  outstretched  palm.  What 
will  the  knight  with  the  noble  motive  in  his 
soul  of  finding  the  Holy  Grail  do  now?  You 
get  the  answer  in  a  feeling  of  loathing  which 
fills  his  soul,  while  the  flesh  beneath  the  ar- 
mor begins  to  creep  in  its  disgust,  and  he 
tosses  the  beggar  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 
He  rides  on,  but  the  voice  of  the  beggar 
sounds  in  his  ear,  speaking  a  new  philosophy 
of  charity.  The  substance  of  the  philosophy 
is  this :  The  gold  that  is  given  from  sense  of 
duty  is  worthless.  That  is  no  true  alms 
which  the  hand  can  hold.  That  is  the  true 
alms,  though  it  be  small,  which  is  given  to 
''that  which  is  out  of  sight."  ''That  which 
is  out  of  sight."  Ah,  what  is  "that  which 
is  out  of  sight!"  Not  a  hungry  mouth  or 
a  naked  body.  It  is  that  cord  of  divinity 
which  runs  through  human  nature  and  binds 
all  men  together  as  brothers.  We  speak  of 
the  brotherhood  of  man.  On  what  is  it 
based?    Not  on  blood  or  color;  not  on  posi- 

108 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

tion  or  condition;  not  on  wealth  or  educa- 
tion :  but  on  this,  that  we  are  all  sons  of  God. 
There  is  in  all  our  natures  that  divine  ele- 
ment which  is  the  common  cord  which  binds 
us  all  as  brothers.  In  this  are  we  brothers, 
not  that  we  have  a  face  that  is  white  or  yel- 
low or  black;  not  that  we  have  a  blood  that 
is  blue,  or  a  common  education  or  position; 
but  because  we  have  a  common  divine  ele- 
ment—are sons  of  God.  This  is  ''that 
thread  of  all  sustaining  Beauty  which  runs 
through  all  and  doth  all  unite."  Runs 
through  leper  f  Yes.  Through  knight  ?  Yes, 
through  all.  Ah,  brother,  learn  that  truth 
and  make  it  operative  in  your  life,  and  you 
have  found  the  Holy  Grail.  And  Sir  Laun- 
fal  hears  the  words  of  this  philosophy  ring- 
ing in  his  ears;  and  he  will  find  the  Holy 
Grail  now,  for  the  beggar  has  pointed  out 
the  way,  and  Sir  Launfal  can  not  forget. 
The  curtain  falls  on  Sir  Launfal  awhile. 

In  the  Prelude  to  Part  Two  we  have  a 
different  scene.  It  is  winter.  A  beautiful 
and  complete  description  of  a  December  day 

109 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

is  now  given  in  contrast  with  the  June  day. 
A  cold  wind  sweeps  down  from  the  upper 
mountain  snows  five  thousand  summers  old. 
The  brook  builds  him  a  home  of  ice  in  which 
to  hide  himself.  The  descrii:)tion  of  the  win- 
ter palace  of  ice  is  one  of  the  literary  ex- 
cellencies of  the  23oem.  The  winter  scene  has 
no  outpost  of  suimner  in  the  castle.  It  is 
winter  everywhere.  In  the  hall  are  song  and 
laughter,  and  the  merry  light  from  the  yule 
log  fire;  but  tlie  castle's  cold  walls  and  grim 
towers  stand  like  sentinels  at  home  in  the 
presence  of  the  winter's  frost.  Sir  Launfal 
is  a  part  of  the  winter  scene.  But  the  years 
have  passed  now,  and  it  is  winter  in  his  life. 
After  years  of  wandering  he  has  come  back. 
The  long  gray  locks  of  Sir  Launfal's  hair 
furnish  a  harp  upon  which  the  wintry  winds 
play  and  sing  a  cheerless  song,  and  the  re- 
frain of  it  is,  ''Shelterless,  shelterless,  shel- 
terless." And  this  wanderer  approaches  the 
castle  which  was  once  his  own,  only  to  be  or- 
dered away  by  the  stem  voice  of  a  steward 
whose  scorn  is  as  great  as  that  Sir  Launfal 

110 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

had  shown  when  he  tossed  the  coin  to  the 
leper.  And  so  all  night  he  sat  before  the 
castle  gate,  his  condition  made  more  comfort- 
less by  the  light  from  the  hall  fire  as  it 
flashed  through  tlie  window  slits  of  the  old 
castle. 

In  Part  Tivo  we  see  Sir  Launfal  again 
going  forth  from  the  castle,  not  as  a  young 
knight  in  flasliing  armor,  but  an  old  man 
turned  with  scorn  as  a  beggar  from  a  door 
which  once  had  been  his  own.  He  is  a  differ- 
ent man  now.  Formerly  there  was  a  cross 
blazoned  on  his  coat  of  armor,  a  badge  of  his 
knighthood.  Now  another  badge  he  wears, 
for  deep  in  his  soul  he  wears  the  sign  of 
the  suffering  and  the  poor.  But  as  he  goes, 
behold !  there  is  a  leper  crouching  at  the  road- 
side begging  an  alms.  What  will  Sir  Laun- 
fal do  now?  We  saw  what  he  did  when,  as 
knight,  he  rode  forth  from  that  castle  gate 
years  ago.  What  will  he  do  now!  There  is 
no  loathing  feeling  now  or  creeping  of  the 
flesh  in  repulsion.  Sir  Launfal  sees  the 
leper,  ''lank  as  a  rain-bleached  bone;"  but 

111 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

he  sees  more.  He  has  a  new  vision  now.  He 
sees  in  him  an  image  of  Him  who  died  on 
the  tree.  He  sees  a  divine  element  in  the 
leper ;  they  are  brothers.  Three  persons  are 
now  in  the  gronp  by  the  roadside:  the  leper, 
Sir  LaunfaJ,  and  the  Christ;  and  there  is  a 
cord  that  binds  the  three  in  one,  and  they 
are  brothers.  Sir  Launfal  faces  the  Christ, 
and  says: 

"Mild  Mary's  Son,  acknowledge  me; 
Behold  through  him  I  give  to  Thee." 

And  not  with  scorn,  but  with  brotherly  love, 
he  divides  with  the  leper  the  last  crust  of 
bread,  breaks  the  ice  on  the  stream,  and 
from  a  wooden  bowl  gives  him  to  drink.  And 
a  light  shines  round  the  place.  The  leper 
seems  transformed,  and  a  voice  softer  than 
silence  says,  "Lo,  it  is  I;"  and  then  the  voice 
declares  that  the  Holy  Grail  for  which  he  had 
sought  in  vain  was  found  in  the  spirit  of  the 
act  performed,  not  an  alms  tossed  in  scorn, 
but  a  brotherly  deed  done  in  the  name  of 
Christ,   accompanied  by  the  giving  of  self. 

112 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

The  words  with  which  the  Christ  commends 
Sir  Launfal  have  become  immortal: 

Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three, — 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  Me." 

So  the  vision  closed.  The  Grail  is  dis- 
covered in  vision,  but  the  effect  is  real.  Sir 
Launfal  awakes,  and  the  grim  castle  which 
had  repelled  summer  is  compelled  to  throw 
its  gates  wide  open.  Sir  Launfal  shares  his 
earldom  with  his  serfs,  for  they  are  brethren. 

"The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  Launfal' s  land 
Has  hall  and  bovver  at  his  command. 
And  there  's  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 
But  is  Lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he." 

But  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this? 
What  would  the  poet  teach?  AVhat  philoso- 
phy and  theology  here  are  found?  The  vi- 
sion is  a  parable;  and  as  the  parables  of 
Jesus  had  their  meaning,  so  this.  Perhaps 
the  meaning  will  be  clearer  by  asking  some 
preliminary  questions.  What  is  the  Holy 
Grail?  Who  is  Sir  Launfal?  What  is  the 
search  in  the  philosophy  of  the  poem? 

8  113 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

What  is  the  Holy  Grail?  Historically  it 
was  the  cup  from  which  Jesus  drank  at  the 
Last  Supper;  and  this  literal  cup  furnished 
an  object  of  quest  for  the  chivalry  of  the  days 
of  King  Arthur.  But  evidently  Lowell  gives 
it  a  figurative  application.  In  the  poem  be- 
fore us  it  is  not  the  cup  for  which  Launfal 
seeks;  it  is  something  for  which  the  cup 
stands.  Evidently,  from  the  contents  of  the 
poem,  it  is  an  ideal  of  life  that  is  sought;  a 
true  ideal,  as  contrasted  with  the  false.  Let 
us  call  it  the  Christlike  life;  that  ideal  of 
right  existence  exhibited  in  the  spirit  of 
Christ.  It  is  the  spirit  of  Christ:  it  is  the 
Christ  Himself.  It  is  a  Christ  life  which  is 
the  ideal  life.  Call  it  the  Christ  if  you  will. 
Call  it  salvation.    It  is  the  same. 

Who  is  Sir  Launfal?  Lowell  himself 
gives  a  hint  in  the  Author's  Notes.  He  says 
there  he  has  enlarged  the  circle  of  competi- 
tion. He  includes  more  than  knights.  Every 
man  is  included.  Launfal  is  the  idealization 
of  the  universal  man.  Every  man  is  he ;  any 
man  is  he. 

114 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

What  is  the  search?  In  the  light  of  what 
has  been  said  the  search  appears  as  the  at- 
tempt of  the  individual  to  rise  above  the  nat- 
ural base  or  inferior  life  and  become  pos- 
sessed of  the  higher  life,  the  ideal  life;  the 
saved  life  as  it  is  exhibited  in  the  life  and 
spirit  of  Christ. 

In  the  interpretation  of  this  vision  fur- 
ther we  may  differ  somewhat  from  the  usual 
interpretation.  The  usual  interpretation  is 
that  it  is  an  attempt  to  reveal  the  true  idea 
of  charitv  as  contrasted  with  the  false.  The 
conmion  idea  of  charity  is  to  give  an  alms 
to  the  needy,  perhaps  with  contempt,  as  Sir 
Launfal  did  at  first.  But  the  true  idea  is 
to  give  the  self  with  the  gift,  as  he  did  at 
last.  For  ''the  gift  without  the  giver  is 
bare."  So  the  interpretation  runs.  This 
truth  is  certainly  taught  in  the  vision;  but 
there  is  something  more  important  which  lies 
back  of  the  theme  of  charity. 

Again,  others  interpret  the  vision  as  ex- 
hibiting the  idea  of  universal  brotherhood. 
The  conception  of  the  divine  element  in  man 

115 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITEliATUiiE 

furnishing  a  cord  wliich  binds  all  men  ay 
brothers  is  the  theme  some  tell  us.  And 
again  we  will  admit  the  truth;  for  the 
thought  is  prominent  that  the  leper  and 
knight  were  brothers  to  each  other  and  to 
Christ.  But  again  we  must  say  that  there  is 
a  theme  tliat  lies  back  of  the  brotherhood  idea 
as  well  as  the  charity  idea.  The  vision  is  a 
portrayal  of  the  transformation  of  a  life,  and 
the  idea  of  charity  and  brotherhood  are 
prominent  incidents  to  that  transformation. 
But  it  is  the  transformation  primarily  that 
concerns  us.  In  the  vision  it  is  not  the  proc- 
ess or  method  of  transformation  that  is  ex- 
hibited, but  rather  the  fact  and  effect  of 
transformation  of  life.  In  the  fact  and  the 
effect  the  poet  sees  the  method  of  social  re- 
generation. 

The  fact  of  transformation  is  impressed 
in  the  striking  contrasts  of  the  story.  In  the 
first  scene  Sir  Launfal  is  a  picture  of  the 
natural  (unregenerate)  untransformed  life. 
He  has  ambitions  poorly  founded.  He  would 
seek  the  Grail,  not  for  any  particular  good, 

116 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

but  for  a  pastime  and  for  the  honor  there 
might  be  in  its  discovery.  Moreover,  he  is 
selfish  and  heartless.  All  nature  is  clothed 
in  beauty,  but  his  heart  is  not  beautiful. 
When  he  sees  a  beggar  he  is  disgusted  and 
his  flesh  creeps.  He  does  an  act  of  external 
charity,  but  spoils  it  with  the  scorn  of  his 
heart.  He  is  narrow  and  unsympathetic;  as 
heartless  and  cold  as  the  grim  castle  which 
has  successfully  resisted  the  sunshine  and 
summer  which  have  tried  in  vain  to  enter. 
The  cold  castle  is  itself  a  type  of  Sir  Laun- 
f al  's  life.  He  has  resisted  the  bright,  whole- 
some influence  which  would  transform  his 
heart. 

But  look  at  Sir  Launfal  in  the  next  scene, 
as  he  comes  back  an  old  man.  The  change  in 
years  is  only  a  suggestion  of  the  change  in 
spirit.  Sir  Launfal  is  different  within  as 
well  as  without.  No  false  ambitions  sway 
him.  He  is  humble.  He  has  learned  much. 
A  new  spirit  possesses  him.  It  is  the  spirit 
of  love.  Love  for  man  and  love  for  God. 
Whether  Sir  Launfal  recognized  it  or  not, 

117 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

when  he  found  that  spirit  of  love  and  brother- 
hood he  found  the  Grail.  But  he  has  the 
spirit  now.  He  sees  the  leper  not  with  scorn, 
but  compassion.  He  is  not  content  to  toss 
a  coin  in  scorn,  but  in  love  he  divides  his 
crust  of  bread  and  gives  a  cup  of  water  in 
the  Master's  name.  Mark  you,  it  was  unto 
the  Master  the  deed  was  done— "through 
Him  I  give  to  thee."  The  divine  element 
seen  in  Christ  is  likewise  seen  in  the  beggar, 
and  to  Christ  in  him  (rather  to  Christ 
through  him)  he  gives.  Here  is  a  different 
man ;  here  is  a  life  transformed,  and  the  sub- 
stance of  the  transformation  is  this,  that  the 
individual  selfishness  is  lost  in  universal 
brotherliness  and  Christlikeness ;  and  that  is 
salvation. 

As  the  poet  here  does  not  suggest  the 
process  by  which  this  transformation  occurs, 
we  will  leave  that  point  untouched.  Fill  it 
in  with  your  imagination  or  your  theologj'-, 
and  let  us  pass  on  with  the  poet  to  the  ef- 
fect of  the  transformation.  This  effect  is 
seen  in  two  ways,  in  character  and  conduct. 

118 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

In  character  Sir  Laimfal  is  different.  He  is 
humble,  sympathetic,  kind.  More,  he  has  a 
new  conception  of  his  relation  to  man  and 
God.  To  the  leper  he  says,  ''I  behold  in 
thee  an  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree." 
He  could  not  say  that  before.  Now  he  could 
see  a  brother  and  the  Christ  in  a  beggar. 
But  in  conduct,  too,  he  is  different.  Now  he 
gives  hiniself  in  service,  not  a  coin.  A  kind 
word  is  spoken,  bread  is  given,  need  is  re- 
lieved; a  brother  is  served.  And  that  this 
thought  of  service  as  a  result  of  the  trans- 
formed life  is  chief  with  the  poet,  is  shown 
in  the  thought  presented  in  closing— a  de- 
scription of  the  castle  in  the  last  verse.  The 
gate  stands  open,  summer  is  on,  birds  sing, 
the  poor  come  and  find  a  home  there,  and 
Sir  Launfal  makes  his  earldom  to  do  service 
for  needy  brothers.  Thus  in  the  poet's  idea 
the  effect  of  the  transformed  life — the  Christ 
life  found,  which  is  the  Holy  Grail — is  a 
changed  character,  a  new  conduct,  a  blessed 
community,  man  a  Christlike  servant  of  his 
fellow-man. 

119' 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

The  great  mission  of  this  poem  from  the 
practical  standpoint  is  to  emphasize  the  les- 
son that  the  true  Christian  life,  or  saved  life, 
must  express  itself  in  service,  and  that  broth- 
erly service  is  a  sacrament  as  pleasing  to 
the  Lord  as  partaking  of  the  elements   of 
His  shed  blood  and  broken  body.    And  it  is 
a  lesson  the  world  has  needed  sadly  to  learn, 
for  it  is  one  the  world  has  ignored.     As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  old  conception  of  the  ef- 
fect of  salvation  was  to  gain  heaven  merely. 
Study  ''The  Holy  Grail"  of  Tennyson  and 
you  find  that  when  Sir  Galahad  found  the 
Holy  Grail  he  was   immediately  translated 
into  heaven  by  an  escort  of  angels.     That 
was  the  idea  of  the  past,  that  one  was  saved 
to  escape  hell  and  reach  heaven.     But  the 
idea   of   Lowell   is   different,   and   so    with 
Christ.    One  is  saved  to  become  a  servant  of 
others;  to  be  another  Christ,  by  suffering 
and  sympathy  to  enter  the  lives  of  others 
and  bring  them  to  a  higher  life.    And  this  is 
the  gospel  of  Christ.    That  man  whose  idea 
is  to  be  saved  merely  to  escape  hell  and  reach 

120 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

heaven  has  not  learned  the  a-b-c  of  the  Chris- 
tian life.  Nor  has  one  reached  the  supreme 
evidence  of  salvation  until  he  is  possessed  of 
a  genuine  desire  to  know  God  in  serving 
men.  The  watchword  of  this  age  is,  ^'Ser\^- 
ice  to  my  brother."  You  who  are  failing 
here  are  missing  the  real  essence  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  Church  has  its  fields  of  labor 
for  all;  you  may  help  bear  her  burdens  and 
do  her  work;  you  may  by  your  talents  and 
money  in  a  hundred  ways  serve  men  and 
honor  God. 

Let  us  give  this  parable  a  personal  ap- 
plication. Heaven  lies  around  us  in  our  in- 
fancy ;  and  not  only  so,  but  in  manhood  heav- 
enly influences  daily  urge  us  to  be  our  bet- 
ter selves,  to  seek  the  Christ  life.  You  have 
felt  them,  brother.  It  was  summer  in  your 
soul.  The  good  mounted  upward.  But  may- 
hap you  followed  tlie  inspiration  in  a  wrong 
waj^  and  thought  the  better  life  reached  by 
some  external  act.  Not  so.  The  road  to  it 
is  only  through  a  transformed  within.  And 
that  transformation  comes  only  when  one  has 

121 


/ 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATUKE 

been  willing  to  discard  sin  and  selfishness 
and  to  lose  himself  individually  in  the  gen- 
eral brotherhood  of  the  race;  when  one  re- 
ally, by  faith  in  God,  sinks  self  in  the  sea 
of  divinity  which  unites  man  with  man  and 
man  with  God.  And  when  one  has  thus  lost 
himself  he  suddenly  finds  liimself  in  a  large 
capacity ;  he  has  become  a  savior  to  the  rest 
of  the  brotherhood  and  gives  himself  in  daily 
service.  And  this  is  The  Sacrament  of  the 
Christian  life  most  worthy  to  exalt— daily 
service. 

Carlyle  once  sat  in  a  window  overlooking 
the  crowded  streets  of  London  and  wrote, 
''There  are  four  million  people  in  London, 
mostly  fools."  There  may  have  been  some 
truth  in  his  statement,  but  nearer  the  truth 
would  it  have  been  had  he  said,  ''Four  mil- 
lion, mostly  sufferers,"  for  the  city  and  coun- 
try are  full  of  people  who  are  needy  and 
hungry,  not  for  bread,  but  for  human  love 
and  sjTnpathy.  Let  us  look  at  a  typical  pic- 
ture from  real  life. 

A    little    fellow,    four    years    old,    was 

122 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

brought  from  the  shims  to  a  Chicago  orphans ' 
home.    AMien  he  was  brought  upstairs  to  be     i 
put  in  bed,  had  his  bath,  and  tlie  matron      \ 
opened  up  the  sweet  httle  cot  to  put  him  be-      | 
tween  clean  white  sheets,  he  looked  on  in 
amazement.     He  said,  "Do  you  want  me  to      \^ 
get  in  there?"  "Yes."  "What  for?"  "Wliy,       ' 
you   are   going   to   sleep   there."     He   was      / 
amazed  beyond  description.     The  idea  of  go-     ] 
ing  to  sleep  in  such  a  place  as  that — he  did      1 
not  know  what  to  make  of  it.     He  had  never      \ 
slept  in  a  bed  in  his  life  before ;  never.  / 

He  was  put  to  bed,  and  the  matron  kissed 
him  good-night— a  little  bit  of  a  chap,  only 
four  years  old;  and  he  put  up  his  hand  and 
rubbed  off  the  kiss.  He  said,  "What  did  you  j 
do  that  for?"  But  the  next  morning  he  said, 
"Would  you  mind  doing  that  again— what 
you  did  to  me  last  night?"  He  had  never 
been  kissed  before  and  did  not  know  any- 
thing about  it. 

It  was  only  about  a  week  later,  the  ma- 
tron said,  that  the  little  fellow  would  come 
around  three  or  four  times  a  day  and  look 

123 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

up  with  a  pleading  expression  in  his  face  and 
say,  ** Would  you  love  a  fellow  a  little?'* 

After  a  few  weeks  a  lady  came  to  the 
home  to  get  a  child.  She  was  looking  for 
a  boy ;  so  the  matron  brought  along  the  little 
chap,  and  the  lady  looked  at  him.  She  said, 
"Tommy,  wouldn't  you  like  to  go  home  with 
me?"  He  looked  right  down  at  the  floor. 
She  said,  ''I  will  give  you  a  hobby-horse  and 
lots  of  playthings,  and  you  will  have  a  real 
nice  time,  and  I  will  give  you  lots  of  nice 
things  to  do."  He  looked  right  straight  at 
the  floor— did  not  pay  any  attention  to  her 
at  all.  She  kept  talking,  persuading  him, 
and  by  and  by  the  little  fellow  looked  up  into 
her  face  and  said,  ''Would  you  love  a  fellow 
a  little?"  There  is  a  tremendous  pathos  in 
that. 

That  is  the  yearning  of  the  world,  after 
all— for  somebody  who  will  love  a  fellow  a 
little.  And  Christ  has  given  the  world  its 
sublimest  response  to  that  yearning  in  the 
life  of  love  which  had  its  climax  on  Calvary. 
But  the  Christian  is  called  to  love  a  little,  too. 

124 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 

And  we  find  our  Holy  Grail ;  we  possess  our 
transformed  lives  in  order  that  day  by  day 
we  may  partake  of  the  sacrament  of  broth- 
erly service.  And  this  is  the  gospel  of 
Christ.  I  am  my  brother's  keeper.  Bear  ye 
one  another's  burdens,  and  so  fulfill  the  law 
of  Christ.  And  He  whose  life  has  been  epit- 
omized in  the  statement  that  He  went  about 
doing  good,  said,  "I  have  given  you  an  ex- 
ample, that  ye  should  do  as  I  have  done  to 
you. ' ' 

In  Ralph  Connor's  book,  *'The  Doctor," 
tbere  is  the  character  of  a  depraved  gambler 
who  is  converted;  his  life  is  transformed. 
He  hungers  to  reach  others  of  his  class,  and 
finally  one  of  the  worst  of  his  former  com- 
panions comes  to  seek  from  him  the  better 
way.  The  converted  gambler  is  poor  at  ex- 
planation; he  can  not  tell  the  how,  but  he 
knows  the  fact.  And  so  he  simply  puts  a 
New  Testament  in  the  hands  of  his  friend 
and  tells  him  he  can  bank  on  that  book.  The 
rough  mountaineer  read  the  story  and  teach- 
ing of  Christ,  and  one  day  the  story  got  hold 

125 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

of  him  and  he  pressed  the  book  reverently 
to  his  lips  and  said,  ''I  'm  agoin'  to  follow 
that  trail."  That  is  the  trail  for  all  to  take 
—the  trail  of  the  life  transformed  through 
Christ,  and  which,  transformed,  seeks  the 
transformation  of  another.  For  such  service 
the  world  is  dying;  for  such  love  the  world 
is  hungering.  As  followers  of  Christ,  it  is 
ours  to  love  much  and  serve  much.  The 
Master  has  said,  ''Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done 
it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  My  brethren, 
ye  have  done  it  unto  Me." 


126 


V 

THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON; 

OR, 

THE  CHRISTIAN'S  DEBT  TO  THE 

PAST 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON; 

OR, 

THE  CHRISTIAN'S  DEBT  TO  THE 

PAST 

In  his  ''Tlianatopsis"  W.  C.  Bryant  declares 
that  *'all  that  tread  the  globe  are  but  a  hand- 
ful to  the  tribes  that  slumber  in  its  bosom;" 
the  earth  itself  is  ''the  great  tomb  of  man." 
There  is  more  than  poetry  in  this  declara- 
tion. The  life  of  to-day  is  founded  on  the 
death  of  yesterday.  The  feet  of  the  living 
tread  the  dust  of  the  dead. 

When  we  build  our  structures  high  in  the 
air  we  first  sink  their  foundations  deep  into 
the  earth.  We  recognize  the  relation  between 
the  height  and  the  depth  because  we  can  see 
it.  It  is  tangible.  But  it  is  just  as  true, 
though  not  as  easily  recognized,  that  the  im- 
material structures  of  society  to-day  have 

9  129 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

their  foundations  deep  in  the  soil  of  yester- 
day. Do  we  boast  of  liberty?  It  is  founded 
on  the  servitude  and  struggle  of  yesterday. 
Do  we  cry  peace  anon  ?  It  is  conditioned  on 
the  war  and  blood  of  bygone  days.  Are  we 
proud  of  the  civilization  of  our  land  and  age? 
It  has  come  up,  like  the  white-robed  host, 
through  great  tribulation.  It  owes  much  to 
the  toil  and  conflicts  of  the  generations  of 
the  past.  Do  we  talk  freely  of  our  Chris- 
tianity and  her  worth  to  the  world?  Let  us 
remember  that  her  foundations  go  back  to 
Gethsemane,  where  the  sweat-drops  issued  in 
blood,  and  to  Calvary,  where  the  blood  gath- 
ered in  a  stream  which  flowed  for  the  heal- 
ing and  saving  of  the  world.  And  let  us  re- 
member that  all  through  the  years  the  struc- 
ture has  been  enlarged  by  the  blood  and  tears 
and  struggles  and  sufferings  of  countless 
martyrs  and  saints.  Christianity  is  largely 
indebted  to  the  past.  The  Christian  owes  a 
vast  debt  to  the  past. 

It  is  the  debt  of  Christianity  to  the  past 
that  is  suggested  as  one  reads  **The  Prisoner 

130 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

of  Chillon,"  by  Lord  Byron.  Had  our  fa- 
thers been  made  of  less  heroic  stuff,  when 
the  horrors  of  persecution  assailed  them  they 
might  have  played  the  coward  and  forsaken 
the  principles  which  they  held,  and  Chris- 
tianity might  have  become  a  forgotten  thing. 
But  our  fathers  were  heroes.  They  dared  to 
suffer  and  die  for  a  sacred  cause.  Their 
voices  come  ringing  down  the  years  heavy 
with  heroic  purpose.  "We  are  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  men  who  gave  their  bodies  to 
the  flames  at  the  stake  and  sang  triumphant 
songs  while  the  flesh  roasted;  of  men  who 
at  the  rack  had  the  life  drawn  out  by  pain- 
ful degrees  without  a  murmur;  of  men  who 
submitted  to  the  indignities  and  horrors  of 
a  dungeon  life,  long  and  cruel,  and  yet 
counted  it  all  joy.  These,  our  fathers,  were 
not  only  heroes,  but  seers,  and  they  were 
willing  to  suffer  because  they  could  see  that 
through  their  suffering  there  would  be  trans- 
mitted to  the  generations  of  ages  to  come  the 
gospel  of  a  crucified  Lord,  which  gospel  guar- 
anteed freedom  from  the  curse  of  sin  and  sal- 

131 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITEKATURE 

vation  to  the  joys  of  an  eternal  existence. 
The  dead  bodies  of  Egj^pt  were  preserved 
embalmed  in  linen  folds  with  ointments  of 
myrrh  and  cassia  and  chemicals.  But  the  liv- 
ing gospel  of  Jesus  has  come  down  to  us  pre- 
served in  the  pain  of  many  martyrs  and 
anointed  with  tears  of  much  sorrow. 

Lord  Byron,  the  author  of  ''The  Prisoner 
of  Chillon,"  is  another  of  the  great  English 
poets  for  whose  life  we  must  apologize  while 
we  praise  his  work.  AVhen  a  boy  he  was, 
like  Burns,  unusual  in  his  attachments  to  the 
opposite  sex.  From  the  ages  of  eight  to 
eleven  he  had  passionate  affection  for  several 
girl  idols.  Had  that  early  passion  been  prop- 
erly restrained  and  directed,  the  later  life  of 
Byron  might  have  been  different.  One  can 
not  read  his  life  and  of  his  parentage  with- 
out feeling  that  this  boy  suffered  from  lack 
of  parental  influence.  His  father  was  a  reck- 
less profligate,  who  squandered  his  fortune 
at  the  gambling  table.  The  home  life  was  un- 
liappy  and  resulted  in  a  separation  between 
the  father  and  mother.    It  is  said  that  even 

132 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

after  the  separation  the  mother  treated  the 
son  with  alternate  affection  and  violence. 
Evidently  at  an  age  when  sorely  in  need  of 
wise  counsel  and  a  directing  hand,  he  was 
neglected.  At  any  rate  that  early  passion  de- 
veloped to  a  marked  degree.  Poor  boy !  He 
little  knew  of  the  volcanic  fires  slumbering 
deep  in  his  nature,  suggested  by  that  abnor- 
mal attachment  to  tlie  opposite  sex.  At  this 
trait  parents  so  often  smile.  God  forbid! 
It  is  common  for  parents  to  wink  at  the  fore- 
tokens of  danger  seen  in  their  children's 
lives.  Childish  love  affairs  are  considered 
cute  and  jDractices  are  encouraged  that  are 
hazardous  to  both  refinement  and  morals.  In 
the  spirit  of  amusement  parents  encourage 
a  dangerous  familiarity  between  the  sexes, 
and  in  a  short  time  that  familiarity  grows  to 
sensuality.  It  is  playing  with  fire.  Parents 
would  be  in  better  business  if  they  would 
teach  the  children  the  spirit  of  chivaliy  in- 
stead of  softness,  until  girls  came  to  recog- 
nize the  dignity  and  sacredness  of  their  own 
position,    and   boys    in    the    spirit    of    true 

133 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

knighthood  came  to  honor  and  defend  the 
modesty  and  purity  of  girlhood. 

When  Byron  grew  to  manhood  and  was 
iwriting  some  of  his  earlier  poems  he  was 
delving  into  the  immoralities  and  excesses  of 
London  society.  A  little  later,  in  a  spas- 
modic effort  at  reform,  he  married  an  at- 
tractive yomig  woman  and  lived  in  marriage 
just  one  year.  It  was  an  unfortunate,  miser- 
able year  for  the  bride,  and  at  its  end  she, 
now  a  young  mother,  returned  to  her  father's 
home  and  refused  to  live  longer  with  Byron. 

These  domestic  affairs  set  tongues  wag- 
ging. Byron's  virtues  and  vices  were  freely 
aired.  Many  accusations  were  made  against 
him.  Though  guilty,  he  had  some  family 
pride  left,  and  in  those  days  of  gossip  said: 
''My  name,  which  has  been  a  knightly  or 
noble  one,  since  my  fathers  helped  to  conquer 
the  kingdom  for  William  the  Nonnan,  was 
tainted.  I  felt  that  if  what  was  whispered 
was  true,  I  was  unfit  for  England;  if  false, 
England  was  unfit  for  me."    So  he  withdrew 

to  Italy,  where  his  life  was  still  licentious, 

134 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

and,  as  a  biographer  has  said,  ''His  genius 
was  tainted  by  his  indulgences."  How 
brightly  his  star  of  genius  might  have  shone 
we  shall  never  know.  It  was  obscured  by  sin. 
His  own  death  was  doubtless  hastened  by  his 
wayward  life,  and  he  died  at  the  age  of 
thirty-six  years— in  the  prime  of  life— but 
his  manhood  burned  out.  Just  three  months 
before  his  death  he  wrote  a  poem  known  as 
''Byron's  Latest  Verses,"  in  which  he  de- 
scribed his  own  sad  condition.  Every  young 
man  on  the  road  to  license  and  sin  should 
stop  long  enough  to  read  these  verses  of 
Byron.  They  are  the  words  of  a  man  who 
has  gone  that  way  and  learned  what  the  end 
is.    Let  me  quote  these  lines: 

My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf. 

The  flowers  and  fruits  of  love  are  gone; 

The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 
Are  mine  alone. 

I  know  of  no  more  dismal  testimony  in 
literature  than  that, ' '  My  days  are  in  the  yel- 
low leaf"— it  is  fall  time.  What,  fall  of  the 
year  at  thirty-six?    Sin  speeds  at  an  awful 

135 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

pace!  ''The  flowers  and  fniits  of  love  are 
gone."  Ah,  here  is  poverty  indeed.  The 
flowers  of  love  in  his  own  life  withered.  How 
barren  must  that  life  be  that  has  not  pure 
soil  enough  to  grow  one  flower  of  love !  The 
fruits,  too,  are  missing!  No  love  of  child 
or  wife  or  friend  or  home  to  cheer.  No  smile 
of  God  to  bless.  But  wait.  There  is  a  heri- 
tage left,  ''The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the 
grief. ' '  The  worm,  how  it  gnaws !  The  can- 
ker, how  it  eats!  The  grief,  how  it  pains! 
But  these,  and  these  alone,  are  the  heritage 
of  a  man  who  has  traveled  the  way  of  license 
and  sin.  Ah,  as  we  listen  to  this  testimony 
of  a  mined  life  we  hear,  too,  the  voice  of 
Holy  Writ  saying,  "There  is  a  way  which 
seemeth  right  unto  man,  but  the  end  thereof 
is  death ; "  it  is  the  way  of  sin. 

"The  Prisoner  of  Chillon"  was  written 
by  Byron  during  his  sojourn  in  Switzerland, 
after  his  separation  from  his  wife  and  depar- 
ture from  England  for  the  last  time.  The 
poem  has  an  historic  background.  While  the 
prisoner  of  the  poem  is  a  creation  of  Byron's 

136 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

imagination,  the  prison  is  a  reality.  The 
prisoner,  while  imaginative,  is  yet  a  type  of 
many  who  suffered  for  their  faith,  and  the 
experiences  through  which  he  passed  may  be 
accepted  as  historically  true  in  the  lives  of 
many  noble  martyrs.  But  the  prison  itself 
stood  as  described  in  the  poem,  and  so  stands 
to-day.  It  is  located  on  the  east  shore  of 
the  famous  Lake  Geneva,  called  Leman  by 
the  Romans.  The  prison  proper,  or  dungeon, 
is  located  in  Chillon  Castle,  which  is  builded 
on  a  lonely  rock  near  the  east  end  of  the  lake, 
and  is  almost  entirely  surrounded  by  water. 
The  castle  and  dungeon  are  exceedingly  old, 
having  been  built  centuries  ago.  The  Geneva 
patriot  Bonnivard,  so  the  records  show,  was 
confined  in  this  dungeon  as  early  as  1530, 
but  the  dungeon  itself  dates  back  much  fur- 
ther than  that.  From  this  confinement  Byron 
got  his  idea  of  the  Prisoner.  The  dungeon 
with  its  darkness,  coldness,  and  loneliness 
stands  in  striking  contrast  with  the  beauty 
of  the  scenery  about  it,  for  Lake  Geneva  is 
noted  for  its  beauty.    For  centuries  the  beau- 

137 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

ties  of  this  spot  have  been  celebrated,  and  to- 
day a  constant  stream  of  beauty-lovers  pours 
into  Lake  Geneva.  From  the  lake  the  im- 
mortal Mont  Blanc  is  plainly  visible,  though 
forty  miles  away ;  and  its  white,  snow-capped 
summit  is  often  seen  reflected  in  the  deej^ly 
blue  waters  of  Lake  Geneva. 

Byron  visited  Switzerland  and  Geneva  in 
1816  and  beheld  the  lonely  dungeon,  whose 
walls  were  washed  by  the  waters  of  the  beau- 
tiful lake.  His  imagination  was  aroused  by 
what  he  beheld,  and  he  wrote  the  now  well- 
known  poem,  ''The  Prisoner  of  Chillon." 

In  the  poem  the  Prisoner  is  spokesman. 
He  tells  his  own  story  and  makes  his  own 
horrible  description  of  suffering.  He  begins 
abruptly : 

My  hair  is  white,  but  not  with  years, 

Nor  grew  it  white 

In  a  single  night 
As  men's  have  grown  with  sudden  fears," 

and  thus  the  poet  psychologically  prepares 
the  reader  for  a  story  of  unusual  interest. 

138 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

Hair  whitened,  not  with  years  nor  with  fears ! 
What,  then,  is  the  cause?  The  mind  is 
thrown  intO'  a  state  of  expectancy.  The  ques- 
tion of  the  aroused  mind  is  answered  a  little 
further  on,  when  the  poet  makes  the  prisoner 
say,  ''But  this  was  for  my  father's  faith  I 
suffered  chains  and  courted  death. ' '  Now  we 
have  it.  Here  is  to  be  the  story  of  one  who 
suffered  for  the  faith  of  his  fathers  and  for 
loyalty  to  his  father's  God.  So  the  story  be- 
gins. 

The  father  of  the  Prisoner  perished  at  the 
stake  for  the  faith  he  would  not  forsake.  Six 
sons  were  left,  and  of  these  all  but  one,  the 
Prisoner  himself,  had  finally  followed  the 
father  to  a  martyr's  grave.  The  sublime 
spirit  of  the  martyr  is  suggested  in  the  de- 
scription of  the  manner  in  which  these  sons 
met  their  death,  namely,  "Proud  of  persecu- 
tion's rage." 

We  are  made  to  think  here  of  Polycarp, 
who  welcomed  death  at  the  stake,  crying: 
' '  Six  and  eighty  years  have  I  served  Christ, 
and  He  never  wronged  me.    How  can  I  now 

139 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

forsake  Plim,  my  King  and  Savior?"  and  of 
Hugh  Latimer,  who  shook  hands  with  the 
flames  as  they  leaped  up  to  lick  out  his  life's 
blood,  and  shouted  to  a  fellow  martyr 
through  the  heat,  ' '  Be  of  good  cheer,  Ridley ; 
we  shall  this  day  light  such  a  fire  in  Eng- 
land as  shall  never  be  put  out."  The  spirit 
of  the  martyr,  "proud  of  persecution's 
rage,"  is  a  blessed  heritage  for  the  Chris- 
tian of  to-day,  and  should  inspire  courage 
and  loyalty  in  the  service  of  the  world's 
Savior. 

The  Prisoner  proceeds  to  tell  how  the  sons 
met  their  death:  ''One  in  fire  and  two  in 
field."  This  left  three,  of  whom  the  Pris- 
oner was  one.  With  the  three  we  are  con- 
cerned in  the  story.  These  three  were  cast 
into  the  dungeon  of  Chillon  for  their  faith  in 
"the  God  their  foes  denied." 

The  description  of  the  dungeon  is  given 
so  vividly  we  are  able  to  reproduce  it  in  our 
thought.  It  is  dark,  for  its  walls  are  tight; 
only  one  opening,  high  and  small,  admitting 
one  lonely  ray  of  light,  which,  as  the  poet 

140 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

says,  is  like  a  ''suubeam  which  has  lost  its 
way."  It  is  damp.  The  prison  floor  is  be- 
low the  level  of  the  lake,  and  sometimes, 
when  the  waves  dash  high,  the  spray  is  flung 
through  that  narrow  opening  in  the  wall  to 
keep  company  with  the  sunbeam  which  has 
lost  its  way.  It  is  bare.  No  wood  or  stone 
forms  the  floor;  but  the  cold,  bare  earth 
without  a  blade  of  grass  forms  the  resting- 
place  of  the  captive  feet.  ''In  Chillon's  dun- 
geon deep  and  old"  are  seven  pillars  of  stone, 
to  which  are  attached  seven  rings,  and  to  the 
rings  seven  chains.  A  capacity  for  seven  the 
dungeon  thus  possessed,  yet  the  three  broth- 
ers were  the  only  victims  confined  therein. 
Each  was  chained  to  his  stone  column,  and 
the  chain  was  so  short  no  pace  could  they 
take,  nor  touch  each  other's  hand.  So  dark 
was  it  they  could  not  see  each  other's  face. 
They  were  three,  yet  each  alone.  And  yet 
the  one  consolation  remained  of  being  able  to 
speak  each  to  each  through  the  darkness. 

The  Prisoner  of  Chillon  was  the  eldest  of 
the  three  brothers,  and  so  he  endeavored  to 

141 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

become  comforter  to  the  others.  As  they 
talked  their  voices  seemed  to  change  from 
day  to  day,  until,  their  naturalness  gone,  they 
sounded  like  the  echoes  of  the  dungeon  stone. 
As  the  weary  weeks  wore  away  the  second 
brother  in  years  pined  away  and  died.  When 
the  Prisoner,  by  the  silence,  became  conscious 
his  brother  was  dead,  in  a  frenzy  he  at- 
tempted to  break  the  chains  that  bound  him 
and  rush  to  the  brother's  side;  but  all  in  vain. 
Then  came  tlie  cruel  keepers  to  bury  the 
dead.  Right  where  the  body  had  fallen  they 
digged  the  grave,  and  although  the  Prisoner 
pleaded  that  his  brother  might  rest  in  a 
grave  upon  which  the  sun  could  shine,  there 
in  the  dark  dungeon  they  buried  him.  And 
the  Prisoner  dwelt  in  the  presence  of  two 
brothers;  one  dead,  one  living. 

But  the  youngest  brother  was  soon  to 
meet  the  fate  of  the  second,  and  he  too  was 
struck  with  death,  and  the  Prisoner  saw  or 
rather  felt  him  withering  away  until  all  was 
still.  The  Prisoner  expresses  his  feelings  at 
that  time  in  these  memorable  words: 

142 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

0  God,  it  is  a  fearful  thing 

To  see  the  human  soul  take  wing 
In  any  shape,  in  any  mood ; 

1  've  seen  it  rushing  forth  in  blood ; 
I  've  seen  it  on  the  breaking  ocean 
Strive  with  a  swollen,  convulsive  motion ; 
I  *ve  seen  the  sick  and  ghostly  bed 

Of  sin,  delirious  with  its  dead  ; 

But  these  were  horrors — this  was  woe 

Unmixed  with  such, — but  sure  and  slow." 

It  is  at  tMs  point  in  the  story  the  genius 
of  the  poet  reaches  its  climax.  With  a  touch 
of  art  which  is  true  to  life  the  poet  invests 
the  Prisoner  with  supernatural  power  as  he 
lahors  under  the  stress  of  this  second  death, 
and  with  a  Herculean  effort  he  breaks  the 
chain  which  binds  him  to  his  pillar  and  rushes 
through  the  darkness  to  the  pillar  where  the 
youngest  brother  has  stood.  His  own  words 
are,  "With  one  strong  bound  I  rushed  to 
him;  I  found  him  not."  "I  only  stirred  in 
this  black  spot." 

**I  found  him  not."  What  pathos,  and 
yet  what  religious  philosophy  in  the  words. 
The  Prisoner  found  the  cold  form.    He  says 

143 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

be  took  the  hand  that  lay  so  still,  yet  he 
found  him  not.  It  is  a  statement  akin  to  that 
of  the  Savior,  who,  as  He  stood  over  the  life- 
less form  of  the  damsel,  said,  ''She  is  not 
dead."  She, "  the  spirit,  was  living  and  im- 
mortal, though^  th'fe  -^bd^y  was  cold.  In  the 
dungeon  of  Chill  on  he  was  not  to  be  found, 
though  the  body  was  there.  The  soul  was 
,gbner  He  was  absent.  Have  you  never  ex- 
perieiiced  the  pathos,  the  philosophy  of  this 
ii^  when  you  have  beiKied  with  tear-dinmied  eyes 
oveu  the  cold  foiin  of  oAe  you  loved,  and  laid 
your  hand  upon  tho^e  ifty  hands  or  pressed 
your  lips  upon  the  brow  as  white  and  cold 
as  marble|  You  found  her  not.  You  found 
him  not..  fTh^'  spirit  was  gone.  And  yet,  if 
you  had  <lie  vision  of  Jesus,  and  understood 
the  immortality  of  spirit,  you  could  say,  ''Not 
dead,  not  dead." 

Alon^with  the  lifeless  forms  of  his  broth- 
ers, one  above  ground  and  one  beneath,  the 
Pnsoner  is  pressed  with  more  than  human 
*  strength  can  endure.    His  usual  faculties  fail 
him.  He  sinks  into  a  dazed  or  semi-conscious 

144 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

state.  Grief  and  suffering  have  unmanned 
the  man,  and  he  falls  into  a  state  of  mental 
stupor,  of  deadly  torpor.    He  says: 

' '  I  haa  no  thought,  flo  feeling,  — none. 
Among  the  stones  I  stood  a  stone." 

Shakesi3eare  has  been  praised  for  his 
skill  in  portraying  truthfully  psychological 
moments  and  laws  in  dealing  with  difficult 
situations.  The  skill  of  Byron  at  the  "point 
just  described  is  worthy  of  comparison  with 
Shakespeare.  Notice  the  situation.  A  living 
man  has  become  a  stone-;  dead  j^o  the  world 
without,  to  ambition,  to  hope.'  Only  one 
thing  remains  to  indicate  life,  and  that  is  his 
faith  in  the  God  of  his  fathers.  Otherwise 
he  is  dead.  The  task  of  the  poet  is  to^ 
perform  a  psychological  resurrection.  How 
shall  it  be  done?  How  shall  a  stone  be  made 
to  feel?  Would  the  Prisoner  be  aroused  by 
the  rushing  of  the  angry  waves  of  Geneva 
against  the  wall  of  the  castle  with  such  force 
that  the  walls  were  made  to  rock?  Not  so; 
for  when  the  walls  had  trembled  he  was  un- 

10  145 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

moved  and  said,  ''I  could  have  smiled  to  see 
the  death  that  would  have  set  me  free." 
AVould  he  have  been  frightened  into  con- 
sciousness again  by  the  rushing  in  of  keepers 
with  drawn  swords  to  take  his  life  1  No ;  but 
unmoved  he  would  have  met  the  thrust  that 
would  have  ended  forever  his  consciousness 
of  things  mundane.  How,  then,  shall  he  be 
brought  back  to  life!  Listen!  There  is  si- 
lence like  death  reigning  in  the  dungeon 
shadows.  It  is  the  abode  of  death.  But  sud- 
denly a  strange  sound  strikes  its  way  through 
the  awful  stillness.  Strikes  its  way?  No; 
for  it  brings  no  shock  or  pain.  Rather  it 
descends  like  a  heaven-sent  psalm  and  lays 
its  soothing  melody  against  the  Prisoner's 
ear  and  sinks  into  the  Prisoner's  heart.  It 
is  the  carol  of  a  bird.  How  strange  it  seemed 
in  that  sad  place,  where  liberty-blessed  life 
had  never  volunteered  to  come  before,  and 
sound  of  music  had  never  before  been  heard ! 
The*  carol  of  a  bird !  Only  one  brief  note, 
and  then  it  ceased;  but  the  Prisoner's  heart 

had  been  reached.    And  then  the  carol  came 

146 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

again.  To  the  Prisoner  it  became  ''the 
sweetest  song  ear  ever  heard."  The  Prison- 
er's heart  was  not  only  touched,  but  stirred. 
Tears  started,  and  his  "eyes  ran  over  with 
the  glad  surprise."  Slowly  and  by  degrees 
his  consciousness  returned.  The  stone  began 
to  feel.  The  Prisoner  lived  again.  And  then 
in  the  only  crevice  in  the  wall  the  Prisoner 
saw  the  bird,  with  azure  wings,  and  listened 
as  it  sang  to  him  a  song  which  spake  a  thou- 
sand things.  But  underneath  and  above  all 
else  which  the  song  said  was  its  utterance  of 
love.  This  it  was  that  touched  the  Prisoner's 
heart.  ''And  it  was  come  to  love  me  when 
none  lived  to  love  me  so  again,"  says  he. 
Love!  What  a  picture  is  here!  And  what 
a  message  the  bird  sings  to  the  world !  Music 
is  power,  it  is  said.  It  hath  charm  to  sooth 
and  power  to  arouse.  But  love  is  power  too. 
And  what  power  there  is  when  love's  mes- 
sage is  borne  on  the  wings  of  music!  Love 
hath  power  to  arouse.  When  ambition 'has 
been  broken  and  hope  is  dead  and  the  life  is 
like  a  stone,  let  the  music  of  love  be  sung— 

147 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

and  how  the  heart  takes  hope  again !  And  if 
love  of  a  bird  can  arouse  the  despairing  Pris- 
oner of  Chillon,  how  much  more  may  the  love 
of  man  for  his  brother  arouse  to  life  anew! 
''Let  brotherly  love  continue,"  says  the  sa- 
cred writer.  (Heb.  13:1.)  Sing  your  love 
to  the  struggling  brother.  Manj^  a  victory 
has  been  achieved  because  somebody  whis- 
pered in  the  ear  of  the  toiler,  ''I  love  you." 
Many  a  failure  has  been  avoided  because  love 
spake  its  message,  and  failure  became  out  of 
the  question.  0  bird,  sing  thy  song  of  love 
and  rouse  the  Prisoner's  heart!  0  man, 
speak  thy  word  of  love  and  cheer  thy  strug- 
gling brother! 

The  change  affected  by  the  carol  of  the 
bird  was  a  complete  one.  The  bird  flew  away, 
but  its  mission  was  accomplished.  The  man 
was  awakened.  Even  the  keepers  became 
kind.  The  prisoner's  broken  chain  remained 
broken.  He  had  the  liberty  of  the  cell.  He 
made  a  footing  in  the  wall  and  once  looked 
out  of  the  crevice  through  which  the  bird  had 
sung  its  song.    He  saw  the  mountains  snow- 

148 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

crowned,  the  lake  beneath,  the  blue  Rhone 
flowing  away  in  the  distance,  the  sails,  the 
town  far  away.  One  look.  The  eyes  filled' 
with  tears,  and  he  sank  again  into  the  dun- 
geon abode  as  one  sinks  into  a  new-made 
grave. 

Time  wore  away,  and  at  last— how  long, 
the  Prisoner  never  knew— men  came  to  set 
him  free.  Just  here  we  meet  a  pathetic  situ- 
ation. Liberty  was  no  boon  to  the  Prisoner. 
He  says  of  himself  that  he  had  ''learned  to 
love  despair. ' '  All  his  tribe  were  dead.  His 
spirit  was  crushed.  Nothing  had  life  and 
liberty  to  give  to  him,  and  he  says,  "Even  I 
regained  my  freedom  with  a  sigh." 

There  are  two  practical  messages  con- 
tained in  this  closing  pathetic  scene.  The 
first  is  the  danger  of  crushing  the  free,  noble 
spirit  of  manhood  by  cruel  oppression.  No 
prouder  sjoirit  existed  than  that  which  the 
Prisoner  as  a  freeman  possessed.  Brave  was 
he,  and  ambitious.  But  behold  him  at  the  last, 
a  man  unmanned,  who  enters  freedom  with  a 
sigh !    What  a  plea  is  herein  made  for  justice 

149 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

and  kindness  in  dealing  with  our  fellow- 
man!  Oppression  in  all  its  forms  has  been 
to  the  world  a  dear  economy.  It  has  meant 
the  suppression  of  manhood  and  the  curbing 
of  the  ambitious  spirit,  and  manhood  and  am- 
bition have  been  the  very  things  the  world 
has  needed  for  her  enrichment.  Behold  '  ^  The 
Man  With  the  Hoe."  He  is  painted  on  can- 
vas. Yes ;  but  he  lives  in  the  world  about  us. 
A  man  unmanned  is  he,  suffering  the  toil  of 
the  beast  without  the  privileges  of  a  man. 
He  is  a  monument  to  society's  unjust  oppres- 
sion. He  has  been  taught  by  oppression  to 
love  despair.  But  man  should  be  a  lover  of 
liberty,  a  devotee  of  ambition,  an  apostle  of 
hope.  Every  lover  of  manhood  and  liberty 
should  be  a  foe  of  oppression,  whether  it  be 
social,  political,  or  even  religious. 

The  second  message  is  the  reaction  of 
man's  environment  on  himself.  The  atmos- 
phere in  which  one  lives,  the  companions  of 
the  daily  walk,  will  gradually  mal^e  their 
stamp  upon  the  life.  The  evil  and  base  ac- 
cepted,  will    destroy    the    taste    for   better 

150 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

things.  Herein  we  face  again  the  effect  of 
sin  on  human  life.  We  are  almost  shocked 
when  in  the  closing  lines  of  this  poem  we 
hear  the  Prisoner  say  that  he  had  friendship 
made  with  spiders  and  with  mice,  and  with 
them  had  learned  to  dwell  in  quiet.  Shocked, 
and  yet  why  should  he  be?  There  is  whole- 
some warning,  too,  in  these  words,  which 
should  he  proverbial  with  all  lovers  of  truth 
couched  in  verse:  ''My  very  chains  and  I 
grew  friends.  So  much  a  long  communion 
tends  to  make  us  what  we  are." 

Behold,  the  Prisoner  of  Chillon  a  friend 
of  chains  and  spiders  and  mice!  And  yet 
he  was  a  man.  How  are  the  mighty  fallen! 
The  treacherous,  creeping,  enslaving  things 
have  been  his  companions,  and  he  has  come 
down  to  their  level.  Such,  too,  is  the  work 
of  sin.  There  are  spiders,  mice,  and  chains 
abundant  yet.  The  doors  of  the  dungeon  of 
sin  swing  wide,  and  all  who  will  may  enter 
there.  But  let  him  who  enters  beware.  The 
motto  of  Dante  is  over  that  door,  "All  hope 
abandon  ye  who  enter  here."    All  hope  aban- 

151 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

don  while  you  remain  here ;  for  gradually,  as 
one  becomes  familiar  with  the  creeping  and 
enslaving  elements  of  sin,  his  high  ideals 
vanish,  his  manhood  dies,  he  sinks,  and  be- 
comes content  with  spiders,  mice,  and  chains. 
The  closing  words  from  the  Prisoner's  lips 
speak  a  truth  akin  to  that  of  Sacred  Writ, 
"Be  not  deceived,  God  is  not  mocked:  for 
whatsoever  a  man  sows,  that  shall  he  also 
reap." 

Thus  the  Prisoner  of  Chillon  stands  to  us 
not  only  as  a  type  of  those  who  by  faithful 
suffering  have  made  Christianity  indebted 
to  them,  and  made  possible  the  Christian  her- 
itage we  enjoy  to-day,  but  stands  also  as  a 
witness  testifying  to  the  danger  of  tyrannical 
oppression  and  to  the  dire  result  of  the  work 
of  sin  in  a  life  which  submits  to  its  fellow- 
ship. Prison  cells  of  stone  have  inclosed  the 
devotees  of  Christianity  in  the  past.  Prison 
cells  of  sin  would  enslave  the  heirs  of  Chris- 
tianity to-day.  He  who  dwells  within  the 
prison  cell  must  bear  upon  his  manhood  the 

152 


THE  PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 

marks  of  the  prison  life.    He  will  become  con- 
tent with  sjiiders,  mice,  and  chains. 

So  much  a  long  communion  tends 
To  make  us  what  we  are." 

But  he  who  lives  in  the  pure  atmosphere 
of  liberty  seeks  better  things  and  grows  to 
a  manhood  gi'adually  molded  into  the  like- 
ness of  God. 


153 


VI 

THE  ANCIENT  MARINER; 

OR, 

THE  NEARNESS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 
WORLD 


THE  4NCIENT  MARINER; 

OR, 

THE  NEARNESS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 
WORLD 

Hakkiet  Beecher  Stowe,  in  expressing  po- 
etically her  conception  of  heaven,  says: 

It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud, — 

A  world  we  do  not  see  ; 
Yet  the  sweet  closing  of  an  eye 

May  bring  us  there  to  be. 
Its  gentle  breezes  fan  our  cheeks ; 

Amid  our  worldly  cares 
Its  gentle  voices  whisper  love, 

And  mingle  with  our  prayers." 

The  nearness  of  the  spirit  world  as  ex- 
pressed in  these  verses  is  the  faith  of  many 
people  whose  thought  has  a  spiritual  trend 
and  whose  souls  are  susceptible  to  spiritual 
impressions.    Nor  is  this  faith  discredited  by 

157 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

either  religion  or  philosophy.  If  it  is  true, 
as  Holy  Writ  declares,  that  in  the  midst  of 
life  we  are  in  death,  it  is  likewise  true  that 
in  the  midst  of  material  things  we  are  in  the 
13resence  of  spiritual  things.  While  we  live 
in  the  material  world  we  live  in  the  spiritual 
world.  The  spiritual  realm  broods  over  us 
like  sunlight.  It  presses  in  upon  us  like  the 
atmosphere.  Its  tides  come  rolling  into  our 
lives  like  sea  tides  forcing  their  way  into 
every  inlet  along  the  shore  line.  Our  world 
of  matter  is  only  a  little  island  resting  like  a 
speck  on  the  bosom  of  the  boundless  sea  of 
spirit. 

This  idea  of  the  close  relation  of  the  seen 
and  the  unseen  was  one  held  in  the  thought 
of  Coleridge.  He  was  at  once  a  theologian 
and  philosopher,  as  well  as  poet.  He  found 
nothing  inconsistent  with  either  theology  or 
philosophy  in  this  view  of  the  relation  of 
the  material  and  spiritual  realms.  He  felt 
that,  while  man  lived  in  the  visible  world, 
there  were  yet  influences  and  forces  that 
made   excursions   from   the   invisible   world 

158 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

into  the  visible.    There  was  an  interweaving 
and  overlapping  of  the  two  realms,  and  an 
interplay  of  forces  from  one  to  the  other.    It 
is  this  sort  of  a  belief  that  underlies  the  tale 
of  the  Ancient  Mariner.     This  is  not  say- 
ing that  "the  Ancient  Mariner"  was  writ- 
ten to  express  this  philosophy,  for  it  was 
not;  but  it  is  to  say  that  this  philosophy  is 
naturally  expressed  in  and  colors  the  story 
of  ''the  Ancient  Mariner."     How  much  it 
colors  the  story  will  be  seen  as  we  proceed. 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  is  a  type  of  the 
clean  man  of  letters.    The  claim  is  not  made 
that  he  was  a  saint  or  that  he  had  no  de- 
fects.   He  was  human.    But  he  was  a  man 
of  letters  from  whose  life  were  absent  those 
glaring  defects  and  sins  which  stained  such 
lives   as   Byron,   Burns,    and   Shelley.     We 
read  something  of  his  being  addicted  to  the 
use  of  opium;  but  this  was  his  misfortune 
rather  than  his  sin.    Opium  was  first  admin- 
istered as  a  relief  for  pain  caused  by  rheu- 
matism, and  it  fastened  its  deadly  appetite 
upon  him.    Nevertheless  Coleridge  made  an 

159 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

heroic  fight  against  it,  and  in  some  degree, 
at  least,  mastered  the  evil. 

He  was  a  splendid  tyj^e  of  the  intellectual 
genius  and  man  of  culture.  As  a  boy  he  was 
a'  careful  student  and  omnivorous  reader. 
When  but  fifteen  years  of  age  he  dared  to 
launch  boldly  into  the  field  of  metaphysics. 
He  developed  a  taste  for  philosophy  and 
theology  that  endured  to  the  end  of  his  life. 
His  writings  on  these  subjects  stamped  the 
thought  of  his  age,  and  to-day  are  of  vast 
benefit  to  those  who  would  work  out  a  phi- 
Josophy  of  life  upon  which  may  be  safely 
built  a  rational  system  of  Christian  faith. 

Coleridge  was  in  his  earlier  life  a  victim 
of  the  popular  thought  of  his  age,  which 
was  materialistic  and  pantheistic.  Hence  we 
find  him  in  his  intellectual  history  passing 
through  materialism  and  pantheism  to  find 
at  last  a  firm  resting-place  in  Christian  the- 
ism. In  his  philosophic  reasoning  he  was 
aided  by  his  study  of  Kant,  and  adopted  some 
of   the    fundamental    tenets    of    that    great 

thinker.    He,  with  Kant,  accepted  that  funda- 

160 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

mental  distinction  which  all  Christian  think- 
ers must  posit  as  a  starting-point,  namely, 
that  there  is  a  difference  between  matter 
and  mind,  between  nature  and  spirit,  between 
the  world  and  God.  The  mind  is  not  a  mode 
of  matter,  as  materialism  would  suggest. 
Spirit  is  not  a  phase  of  nature,  as  pantheism 
would  imply ;  but  these  are  different  and  dis- 
tinct. Their  essential  difference  is  seen  when 
we  remember,  as  Coleridge  taught,  that  the 
constituent  element  of  spirit  is  freedom,  but 
the  constituent  element  of  nature  is  neces- 
sity. Matter  is  held  in  the  grip  of  necessity 
—mind  is  free.  Coleridge  posited  God  as  the 
Creator.  Nature  and  man  were  objects  cre- 
ated. Starting  with  this  distinction,  he  built 
his  Christian  philosophy. 

His  philosophy  led  him  to  theology.  He 
even  became  a  preacher  and  contemplated 
taking  up  the  work  of  the  regular  ministry. 
William  Hazlitt,  having  heard  Coleridge 
preach  on  one  occasion,  said:  '^ Poetry  and 
Philosophy  have  met  together.  Truth  and 
Genius  have  embraced  under  the  eye  and 

11  161 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

sanction  of  Religion."  That  description  re- 
veals something  of  the  power  of  Coleridge 
as  a  preacher.  However,  his  plans  for  the 
ministry  were  never  carried  out. 

There  was  a  distinct  poetic  side  to  the  na- 
ture of  Coleridge,  which  was  greatly  stimu- 
lated by  his  close  association  with  such  men 
as  Wordsworth,  Southey,  and  Charles  Lamb. 
Wordsworth  especially  had  a  salutary  effect 
on  his  i^oetic  work.  It  was  in  union  with 
Wordsworth  that  ''the  Ancient  Mariner,'* 
with  which  we  are  now  concerned,  was  pro- 
duced. Wordsworth  gives  an  interesting  ac- 
count of  the  genesis  of  the  jDoem.  He  says 
that  in  the  fall  of  1797,  while  walking  with 
his  sister  and  with  Coleridge  to  visit  Lenton 
and  the  Valley  of  Rocks,  they  planned  the 
poem  of  ''the  Ancient  Mariner,"  which  was 
founded  on  a  dream  of  a  friend  of  Coleridge. 
The  larger  part  was  original  with  Coleridge, 
but  certain  parts  were  molded  by  suggestions 
from  Wordsworth.  He  suggested  some  crime 
to  be  committed  by  the  Mariner  which  should 
bring  upon  him   spectral   punishment.     He 

162 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

had  read  of  the  albatrosses  in  the  South  Seas, 
and  proposed  to  Coleridge  that  the  crime  of 
the  Mariner  be  the  killing  of  one  of  those 
birds.  Coleridge  accepted  the  suggestion 
and,  in  harmony  with  it,  worked  out  the 
strange  tale  of  ''the  Ancient  Mariner." 

A  hasty  review  of  the  tale  will  be  neces- 
sary to  an  understanding  of  the  poem  and  its 
suggested  teachings. 

The  tale  opens  with  the  appearance  of  an 
old  seaman  of  mystical  bearing,  who  hails  a 
wedding  guest  as  the  latter  proceeds  toward 
the  banquet  hall.  The  wedding  guest,  at- 
tracted by  the  strange  appearance  and  the 
words  of  the  Mariner,  sits  down  on  a  stone 
and,  forgetting  all  about  the  wedding,  listens 
long  and  patiently  to  the  tale  of  the  Mariner. 
The  Mariner  tells  the  story  of  a  weird  voy- 
age. The  vessel  cleared  the  harbor^ and 
sailed  southward  into  regions  of  ice  and 
snow.  Alone  in  the  cold,  and  surrounded  by 
fog,  the  vessel  was  approached  by  a  sea  bird 
known  as  the  albatross.  The  albatross  is 
frequently  seen  in  those  southern  seas.     It 

163 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERxVTURE 

is  a  bird  of  great  size,  extending  the  wings 
in  some  instances  a  distance  of  twelve  or 
thirteen  feet.  It  is  considered  by  sailors  a 
bird  of  good  omen,  and  therefore  a  prophecy 
of  bad  luck  when  one  is  killed  or  injured. 
But  in  tliis  instance,  for  some  reason,  the 
Mariner  shot  the  albatross  with  his  crossbow. 
After  the  killing  of  the  bird  the  fog  lifted, 
and  the  other  sailors  justified  the  act  of  the 
Mariner  by  saying  he  killed  the  bird  that  had 
caused  the  fog.  They  thus  placed  themselves 
in  the  position  of  accomplices  in  the  killing. 
The  fair  wind  blew,  and  they  proceeded  on 
their  way,  sailing  finally  northward  into  a 
silent  sea  unreached  by  man  before.  Then 
began  the  misfortune  of  the  sailors.  A 
deadly  calm  came  on.  The  ship  became  mo- 
tionless. The  sun  was  hot.  The  ship's 
boards  shrank  with  the  heat.  The  sailors 
suffered  with  thirst.  ^*  Water,  water  every- 
where, nor  any  drop  to  drink."  The  sea  it- 
self seemed  stagnant.  ''Slimy  things  did 
crawl  with  legs  upon  the  slimy  sea."     In 

164 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

these  dire  circumstances  the  attitude  of  the 
Mariner's  companions  changed.  They  looked 
upon  him  as  the  cause  of  their  misfortunes, 
and  so  placed  about  his  neck  the  dead  alba- 
tross as  sign  of  his  crime. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  A  shape 
like  a  sail  approached  from  the  west,  mov- 
ing from  the  setting  sun.  It  moved  without 
breeze  or  tide,  a  spectral  ship.  As  the  ship 
drew  near  a  spectral  woman  was  seen  on 
board  with  her  mate  called  Death.  The  two 
were  casting  dice,  and  as  the  strange  ship 
glided  past,  the  Mariner  heard  the  woman 
cry:  **The  game  is  done!  I  've  won;  I  've 
won. ' '  The  woman 's  name  was  ' '  The  Night- 
mare Lif e-in-Death. "  The  winning  of  the 
game  by  Life-in-Death  over  Death  himself 
was  a  prophecy  of  the  coming  experience  of 
the  Mariner,  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  dead, 
slimy  sea,  and  dead  companions  lying  all 
about,  should  be  compelled  to  live,  a  fearful 
life  in  the  midst  of  death. 

The  prophecy  was  soon  fulfilled.    One  by 

165 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

one  the  sailor  companions,  as  smitten  by  a 
sudden  malady,  fell  down,  each  turning  on 
the  Mariner  an  eye  that  seemed  to  flash  a 
curse,  and  the  vessel's  deck  was  strewn  with 
the  coipses  of  four  times  forty  men.  For 
seven  days  and  seven  nights  the  Mariner  sat 
alone  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  enduring 
the  curse  of  their  glassy  eyes.  The  only  liv- 
ing objects  in  sight  were  the  water  snakes 
and  slimy  things  that  swam  or  crept  over  the 
stagnant  sea.  And  yet  those  creatures  in 
their  horribleness  seemed  beautiful  to  the 
Mariner  because  they  possessed  life,  and  he 
blessed  them  unaware.  Then  an  unlooked- 
for  thing  happened  in  his  inner  experience. 
The  moment  he  blessed  the  creatures  of  the 
sea  he  could  pray.  The  albatross  fell  from 
his  neck;  the  awful  spell  that  had  haunted 
and  cursed  him  was  broken. 

Here  is  a  feature  worth  noting.  "When 
the  Mariner  blessed  he  could  pray.  There 
is  a  relation  between  blessing  and  praying. 
He  prays  best  who  blesses  most.  He  whose 
life  is  given  to  cursings  instead  of  blessings 

166 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

can  pray  little.  We  reach  God  best  in  prayer 
after  we  have  reached  man  most  in  blessing. 
As  Coleridge  says  in  this  same  poem: 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 

For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

The  spell  was  broken.  Sleep  came  to  the 
weary  Mariner.  Rain  from  heaven  began  to 
fall  on  the  dry  vessel  and  dead  sea.  The 
wind  arose.  The  calm  was  ended.  The  dead 
sailors  caught  the  new  inspiration,  and  rose 
and  began  to  work  the  ropes  and  to  man  the 
ship.  They  had  not  returned  to  life,  but  a 
troop  of  spirits  from  the  unseen  world  had 
come  and  taken  possession  of  those  bodies; 
dead  men  were  doing  the  work  of  living  men. 
Under  their  touch  the  vessel  made  a  sudden 
bound  and  began  to  move.  The  Mariner  fell 
into  a  swoon.  In  his  unconscious  state  he 
seemed  to  hear  two  voices  in  the  air.  One 
was  the  voice  of  a  spirit  from  the  region  of 

167 


THP]  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

the  albatross'  home,  and  he  spake  in  tones 
of  condemnation  as  he  said: 

Is  this  the  man  ? 

With  his  cruel  bow  he  laid  full  low 

Thje  harmless  albatross." 

The  other  was  a  pleading  voice,  which  said, 
"The  man  hath  penance  done,  and  penance 
more  will  do." 

The  ship  moved  on,  carried  not  so  much 
now  by  the  wind  as  by  the  power  of  the 
spirits  in  control.  While  the  Mariner  was 
in  his  trance  the  ship  moved  at  a  fearful 
rate;  but  when  he  awoke  the  speed  slack- 
ened. But  the  boat  was  still  manned  by  dead 
men.  They  fixed  on  the  Mariner  their  stony 
eyes.  But  the  curse  was  broken.  Swiftly 
the  ship  sailed  on,  and  at  last  the  Mariner 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lighthouse  in  the 
harbor  from  which  he  first  had  sailed,  and 
approached  again  his  own  country,  feasting 
his  eyes  on  his  native  shore. 

As  the  ship  slipped  silently  into  the  bay, 
flooded  with  moonlight,  the  Mariner  turned 

168 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

from  his  scanning  of  the  shove  of  his  native 
land  to  look  upon  the  strange  crew.  An  ap- 
palling sight  met  his  eye.  Each  body  again 
lay  upon  the  deck  lifeless  and  flat.  But  on 
every  corpse  there  stood  a  spirit  form.  Each 
stood  as  a  lovely  light,  and  together  they 
formed  a  seraph-band  and  moved  their  hands 
as  signals  toward  the  land.  Soon  a  boat  ap- 
peared, A  Pilot  and  the  Pilot's  boy  accom- 
panied the  Hermit  who  rode  therein.  As  the 
boat  approached  a  sound  was  heard  rumbling 
beneath  the  waves.  It  reached  the  ship  and 
sjDlit  the  bay.  The  ship  on  which  the  Mar- 
iner rode  went  down  like  lead.  The  Mariner 
found  himself  afloat  upon  the  water,  but 
swiftly  was  drawn  within  the  Pilot's  boat. 
Safely  he  was  landed  on  the  shore,  and  from 
him  tlie  Hermit  demanded  what  manner  of 
man  he  was.  In  answer  the  Mariner  told 
the  tale  of  his  strange  experience.  Its  re- 
cital brought  him  relief.  Henceforth  he 
found  his  only  relief  in  passing  like  the  night 
from  land  to  land,  seeking  for  those  who 
would  hear  the  tale.     The  moment  he  saw 

169 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

his  face  lie  knew  the  man  who  would  listen 
to  his  tale.  And  so  he  had  found  the  wed- 
ding guest,  and  to  him  the  tale  was  told.  The 
IMariner  closed  his  story  with  the  wholesome 
declaration  already  quoted: 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 

For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

It  would  he  difficult  to  find  any  place  in 
literature  a  tale  more  weird  or  more  strange 
than  that  of  this  Ancient  Mariner  hy  Sam- 
uel Taylor  Coleridge.  It  is  a  tale  in  which 
impossible  situations  are  described  with  all 
the  candor  of  the  ordinary,  and  supernatural 
beings  and  experiences  are  introduced  as 
naturally  as  though  they  were  common-place. 
One  comes  from  the  reading  of  the  poem  with 
a  sort  of  creepy  feeling  and  finds  his  mind 
pressing  the  questions,  Why  did  the  poet 
write  such  a  tale?  and  What  does  he  mean 
by  the  unreasonable  narrative?  These  are 
questions  difficult  to  answer.    We  are  accus- 

170 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

tomed  to  treat  poems  miieli  as  parables  and 
look  back  of  their  content  to  the  deeper 
meaning  their  author  would  express.  And 
most  poems  lend  themselves  to  this  sort  of 
interpretation.  There  is  a  philosophy  of  life, 
some  religious  faith,  or  practical  lesson  pre- 
sented by  them.  But  ''the  Ancient  Mar- 
iner" is  not  a  vehicle  conveying  to  us  any 
stated  faith  or  philosophy  which  the  author 
would  exhibit.  Its  parabolic  worth  lies 
rather  in  a  suggestion  than  a  definite  mes- 
sage. It  is  suggestive  of  the  relation  be- 
tween the  world  that  is  seen  and  the  world 
unseen;  of  man  in  his  relation  to  the  world 
of  matter  and  the  world  of  spirits.  Mrs.  Oli- 
phant  in  her  ''Literary  History  of  England" 
well  expresses  the  idea  when  she  says  that 
"the  Ancient  Mariner"  is  "a  parable  not 
only  of  a  ship  and  albatross,  but  of  man- 
kind; a  stranger  on  earth,  moving  about  in 
worlds  unrealized,  always  subject  to  be  seized 
upon  by  powers  unknown,  to  which  he  is  kin, 
though  he  understands  them  not."  In  that 
statement  Mrs.   Oliphant  has  gone  farther 

171 


tb:e  gospel  in  literature 

than  most  critics  go,  and  as  far  as  any  one 
may  dare  go;  for  it  is  only  in  a  suggestive 
sense  that  the  poem  may  be  considered  a 
parable  at  all.  It  is  rather  a  play  of  the 
poet's  imagination,  with  little  regard  to 
'  teaching  or  moralizing.  But  as  imagination 
usually  has  a  connection  with  one's  thoughts 
and  beliefs,  we  may  find  even  in  this  poetic 
play  of  the  imagination  a  suggestion  of  Cole- 
ridge's mental  color,  or  faith,  and  this  Mrs. 
Oliphant  has  discovered,  rightly,  to  be  the 
belief  in  the  intermingling  of  the  seen  and 
unseen  worlds.  ''The  Ancient  Mariner"  is 
hardly  a  parable  setting  forth  that  inter- 
mingling; it  is  rather  a  freak  of  the  imag- 
ination in  which  that  intermingling  is  dis- 
covered as  being  unintentionally  expressive 
of  the  author's  conviction  that  such  an  inter- 
mingling exists. 

It  would  hardly  be  true,  therefore,  to  say 
that  Coleridge  in  ''the  Ancient  Mariner"  is 
attempting  to  offer  any  definite  philosophy 
of  life  or  to  teach  any  specific  message: 
moral,  religious,  or  otherwise.     Perhaps  as 

172 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

much  as  the  poet  intended  to  da  was  to  sug- 
gest the  mystery  with  which  life  is  always 
enveloped.  ''The  Ancient  Mariner"  is  a 
story  of  mystery.  It  impresses  tlie  strange 
nearness  of  the  spiritual  and  material  realms 
— the  mystic  interweaving  of  the  seen  and 
the  unseen.  It  is  this  strange  overlapping 
of  the  seen  and  the  unseen  that  constitutes 
the  force  of  the  poem.  You  feel  it  at  the 
start  in  the  appearance  of  the  Mariner  with 
his  long  beard,  piercing  eyes,  and  strange  at- 
tire. It  sounds  in  the  first  words  he  utters, 
"There  was  a  ship."  Here  is  mystery  sug- 
gested at  once.  The  mind  portrays  a  lone 
sail  on  a  measureless  sea;  and  the  sea  is 
ever  a  suggestion  of  mystery  and  a  prophecy 
of  a  world  unseen.  If  ever  a  skeptic  is 
made  to  believe  in  the  overshadowing  pres- 
ence of  an  unseen  and  mightier  world  than 
the  one  we  know  so  well,  it  is  when  he 
stands  on  the  shore  of  the  sea  and  watches 
the  tides  roll  in  with  a  force  that  mocks 
human  notions  of  strength,  and  then  sees 
those  mighty  tides  ebb  away  into  a  distance 

173 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

so  silent  and  so  vast  that  eternity  is  sug- 
gested not  as  an  impossible  fiction,  but  an 
essential  fact.  The  very  sea,  with  its  re- 
sources unknown  and  its  limits  unseen,  is  an 
argument  for  an  unseen  and  unknown  world 
encircling  that  little  island  we  call  the  life 
of  man.  And  so,  when  the  Mariner  says, 
''There  was  a  ship,"  little  wonder  the  wed- 
ding guest  stopped.  He  had  heard  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  unseen  that  borders  the  seen; 
and  the  unseen  is  a  theme  man  is  ever  hun- 
gering for.  That  the  unseen  world  is  about 
us,  is  the  contention  of  Coleridge.  That  our 
lives  are  affected  by  influences  that  come  to 
us  out  of  the  unseen  world,  he  believes. 
That  strangely  out  of  the  unseen  spectral 
ships  come  sailing  across  our  lives,  and  van- 
ish, he  implies.  These  are  the  underlying 
suggestions  of  ''the  Ancient  Mariner." 

But  as  in  all  mysteries  some  matters  are 
clear,  so  in  "the  Ancient  Mariner"  there 
are  some  tniths  very  evident.  Whether  the 
poet  placed  them  there  intentionally  or  un- 
intentionally,   they    are    there.      They    are 

174 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

truths  true  to  human  experience.  They  are 
truths  that  appear  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
as  fundamental  principles.  Three  of  them 
we  note. ' 

First.  Transgression  is  the  cause  of  mis- 
fortune. Sin  breeds  calamity.  In  'Hhe  An- 
cient Mariner"  the  seas  were  calm  and  the 
voyage  happy  until  the  Mariner  committed 
the  sin  of  slaying  the  innocent  albatross. 
Then,  like  a  flood,  misfortunes  swept  down 
upon  him  until  it  seemed  he  was  the  special 
mark  of  heaven's  wrath.  Here  the  poet  has 
become  an  unconscious  preacher,  for  he  has 
laid  strong  emphasis  upon  the  gospel  truth 
that  the  way  of  tie  transgressor  is  hard. 
Many  a  man  has  found  his  sea  calm  and  his 
sky  bright  until  a  sin  came.  Then  came  the 
storm,  and  perhaps  the  final  wreck.  If  men 
would  not  sin  so,  men  would  not  suffer  so. 
It  is  the  first  sin  of  the  life  that  is  the  big 
sin,  for  that  is  the  one  that  throws  open 
the  door  of  the  life  for  the  incoming  of  many 
ills.  Well  might  the  Mariner  wring  his 
hands  and  cry,  ''If  I  had  not  shot  the  alba- 

175 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

tross  with  my  crossbow ! ' '  Well  might  many 
a  sin-tossed  life  to-day" cry:  ''If  I  had  not— 
if  I  had  not  committed  my  first  theft;  if  I 
had  not  told  my  first  falsehood ;  if  I  had  not 
taken  my  first  drink  of  liquor;  if  I  had  not 
killed  the  albatross!"  Over  every  voyager 
the  white-winged  albatross  soars.  Every 
voyager  is  equipped  with  the  deadly  bow  and 
hath  the  power  to  shoot.  But  woe  to  him 
who  speeds  that  fatal  shaft.  That  shaft  will 
come  back  home  to  quiver  in  the  archer's 
heart. 

Second.  Penitence  brings  to  the  trans- 
gressor resj^ite  and  peace.  The  Mariner 
tried  to  pray.  The  prayer  failed.  The  heart 
was  drv  as  dust.  Then  he  did  that  which 
was  next  to  prayer,  aye,  was  prayer— he 
blessed  the  creatures  of  the  sea.  And  when 
his  benediction  fell,  then  he  could  pray. 
Many  a  man  fails  in  prayer  because  his  heart 
is  dry  with  hate  and  selfishness.  In  his  min- 
istry he  has  never  blessed  another  life.  We 
can  pray  well  only  when  we  have  blessed 
much.     When   the  Mariner  blessed,   lo!  he 

176 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

could  pray.    Tlie  albatross,  the  mark  of  his 
sin,  fell  from  his  neck  and  dropped  into  the 
sea.     The   spell   was   broken.     A   new   era 
dawned.      The    ship    moved.      The    lifeless 
bodies  of  the  crew  were  possessed  of  new 
energy  and,  rising,  took  their  places,  pulling 
ropes  and  guiding  the  craft  on  which  a  pray- 
ing  man   was    riding.      Dead    men   pulling 
ropes!     What  does  that  mean?     Heavenly 
aid  has  come  to  the  man  who  prayed.    Again 
the  poet  has  become  a  preacher.    He  is  illus- 
trating the  gospel  of  the  Christ,  who  says 
that  the  Father  in  heaven  "shall  give  His 
angels  charge  concerning  thee."    Dead  men 
pulling  ropes !    Perhaps  there  is  more  of  this 
playing  of  another  world  on  our  world  than 
we  think.    Perhaps  when  prayer  has  put  the 
life  of  man  in  touch  with  the  life  of  God 
there  is  more  of  divine  aid  than  we  realize. 
Many  a  human  craft  is  aided  on  its  course 
by  influences  from  an  unseen  source.    Spir- 
itual forces  at  the  behest  of  prayer  come 
into  our  lives  to  man  the  ropes  and  speed 
the  sails  to  make  our  voyage  swift  and  safe. 
12  177 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Third.  The  life  of  prayer  will  come  to 
safe  harbor  at  last.  The  Mariner  prayed. 
His  vessel  moved  with  new  vigor.  Spirits 
from  an  unseen  world  helped  him  on  the 
way.  Not  seaward,  but  homeward,  his  vessel 
sped.  The  shores  of  the  homeland  c^me  in 
view.  The  harbor  was  reached.  The  old 
storm-beaten  vessel,  for  which  the  Mariner 
had  no  further  use,  sank,  a  wreck,  into  the 
sea.  But  the  Mariner  was  saved  from  the 
wreck,  caught  up  in  the  Pilot's  boat,  and 
soon  placed  his  feet  on  native  soil.  Home  at 
last!  The  journey  ended;  dangers  past. 
Safe  home  at  last. 

Poet,  thou  art  preacher  once  more.  The 
Mariner  has  landed,  by  the  Pilot's  aid.  And 
as  they  tread  the  shore  of  the  homeland  we 
hear  the  voice  of  the  soul's  Pilot  saying,  "I 
will  come  again,  and  receive  you  unto  My- 
self, that  where  I  am  ye  may  be  also."  And 
again  we  hear  the  echo  of  His  voice,  ''He 
that  endureth  to  the  end,  the  same  shall  be 
saved."    Safe  home  at  last! 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  thought  of 

178 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

the  author,  we  may  be  justified  in  looking  at 
the  tale  of  *'tlie  Ancient  Mariner"  as  a  sug- 
gestive parable  of  the.  soul.  Like  all  par- 
ables, it  must  not  be  pressed  too  far,  but  it 
has  its  lesson.  The  soul,  like  the  Mariner, 
moves  out  upon  its  voyage  over  a  strange 
sea  called  Life.  It  journeys  safe  and  well 
until  it  meets  the  experience  of  sin.  It  slays 
its  albatross.  Then,  lo!  the  whole  aspect  of 
the  voyage  changes;  for  sin  ever  works  ex- 
periences of  horror  and  ruin  in  man's  life. 
The  voyage  itself  becomes  aimless  and  the 
sea  dead.  But  respite  and  new  hope  come 
by  persistency  and  prayer.  Then  the  divine 
influences  are  sent  from  God  to  aid  erring 
man.  ' '  He  shall  give  you  another  Comforter 
that  He  may  abide  with  you  forever."  And 
finall}^  moved  by  prayer  and  guided  by  the 
Comforter's  presence,  the  soul  comes  back  to 
the  harbor  from  which  it  sailed,  and  finds  a 
landing-place  safely  in  the  presence  of  the 
God  who  gave  it  birth. 

The  message  of  ''the  Ancient  Mariner" 
speaks  this  word.  Avoid  sin.     And  yet,  if 

179 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

thou  liast  sinned,  pray.  I*n  jDenitence  cry  for 
rescue.  Heaven  will  hear.  Heavenly  help 
will  come.  The  Pilot  will  appear.  The  voy- 
age will  yet  be  safe,  the  landing  sure.  Every 
man  may,  if  he  will,  breathe  the  faith  of  the 
poet  Tennyson,— 

For  tho'  from  out  our  bourn  of  time  and  place 

The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 
I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 

When  I  have  crossed  the  bar." 


180 


VII 

SNOW-BOUND ; 

OR, 

CHARACTER  FORMED  AT  THE 

FIRESIDE 


SNOW-BOUND ; 

OR, 

CHARACTER  FORMED  AT  THE 

FIRESIDE 

''The  Snow-Bound"  of  John  Greenleaf 
Whittier  may  be  called  a  poem  cosmopolitan. 
It  has  no  merely  local  attachments;  it  ap- 
peals to  no  single  share  of  life  or  class  of 
people.  Its  appeal  is  to  the  universal  man. 
It  has  a  voice  for  every  phase  of  life  and 
every  condition  of  heart.  To  sit  in  silent 
communion  with  ''Snow-Bound"  for  one 
hour  is  to  listen  for  an  hour  to  an  oracle, 
as  with  a  power  almost  divine  it  speaks  mes- 
sages suited  to  every  taste  and  need  of  the 
life.  The  lover  of  nature  here  finds  such 
vivid  portrayals  of  nature's  scenes  that  he 
feels  his  own  heart  beating  in  harmony  with 
nature's  heart.     Lovers   of  home  life  find 

183 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

here  pictures  which  make  the  blood  run 
swiftly  and  cause  tears  to  start  to  the  eyes. 
Those  who  mourn  for  loved  ones  lost  feel 
here  the  pathos  of  another  life  that  has  laid 
loved  forms  away  ''beneath  the  low  green 
tent  whose  curtain  never  outward  swings." 
The  wandering  life  that  owes  to  parents 
righteous  and  serious  its  redemption  from 
worldliness  and  frivolitv,  finds  herein  a  new 
glimpse  of  the  influence  of  godly  fathers  and 
mothers  in  the  lives  of  children.  The  lover 
of  liberty  finds  here  patriotic  speech  that 
fans  to  a  new  heat  his  love  for  the  land  of 
the  free.  The  educator  who  finds  the  future 
safety  and  usefulness  of  our  land  to  be  con- 
ditioned on  the  education  of  the  masses, 
catches  a  new  inspiration  as  he  reads  here 
of  '*a  schoolhouse  plant  on  everj^  hill,  stretch- 
ing in  radiate  nerve  lines  thence  the  quick 
wires  of  intelligence."  And  the  Christian 
saint  finds  new  comfort  here  as  he  reads  of 
a  faith  in  an  immortal  existence  and  a  fu- 
ture meeting  of  loved  ones  expressed  in  the 
sentiment  **that  Life  is  ever  lord  of  death, 

184 


SNOW-BOUND 

and  Love  can  never  lose  its  own.  For  Love 
will  dream  and  Faith  will  trnst  that  some- 
how, somewhere  meet  we  must." 

Whittier  occupies  in  one  respect  a  some- 
what unique  position  among  men  of  letters. 
He  is  more  a  man  of  the  soil  than  a  man 
of  the  schools.  In  this  respect  he  differs 
from  such  poets  as  Coleridge  and  Browning, 
who  were  men  bearing  the  scholastic  stamp. 
They  were  to  some  degree,  at  least,  the  prod- 
uct of  the  schools.  They  received  classic  and 
artistic  training;  they  fed  their  minds  on 
profound  systems  of  thought.  Coleridge  was 
early  a  student  of  metaphysics,  and  his  mind 
was  ever  of  the  rugged  and  profound  type 
that  takes  to  philosophy  and  theology. 
Browning  early  became  a  student  of  Greek 
and  of  the  classics.  He  was  polished  by  cul- 
ture, could  paint,  and  perform  on  the  piano ; 
was  considerable  of  a  sculptor;  a  polished, 
artistic  gentleman.  Whittier  was  a  fanner 
boy.  His  home  was  a  humble  one.  It  is  said 
that  ''genius  delights  to  cradle  its  offspring 
by  the  fireside  of  the  poor. ' '    It  was  so  with 

185 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Whittier.  His  education  was  that  of  the 
humble  fanner's  boy  of  the  early  days. 
Books  in  his  home  were  few.  The  principal 
books  with  which  he  became  acquainted  as 
a  boy  were  the  Bible  and  the  poems  of  Burns. 
These  he  studied  diligently.  He  attended 
the  common  schools;  but  he  never  became  a 
college  man.  He  was  the  only  one  of  the 
famous  group  of  New  England  poets  of  his 
time  who  was  not  college-bred. 

Whittier  was  in  large  part  a  product  of 
nature  and  the  home.  He  loved  nature.  He 
rested  beneath  the  shade  of  the  trees;  he 
lay  down  among  the  wild  flowers ;  he  listened 
to  the  song  of  birds  and  the  murmur  of  the 
brook,  of  which  he  says:  ''The  music  of 
whose  liquid  lips  became  to  us  companion- 
ship, and  in  our  lonely  life  had  grown  to 
have  an  almost  human  tone." 

In  later  years  Whittier  continued  his  self- 
education,  for  he  was  ever  a  student.  He 
was  a  great  reader.  He  became  a  newspaper 
man  and  was  somewhat  interested  in  politics. 
He  finally  became  an  ardent  supporter  of  the 

186 


SNOW-BOUND 

cause  of  liberty  for  the  slaves,  and  much  of 
his  poetry  was  written  in  the  interest  of  the 
beloved  black  man  and  may  be  called  patri- 
otic poetry.  But  meanwhile  his  inclination 
to  poetry  was  with  him  whatever  his  voca- 
tion in  life,  and  in  that  poetry  he  revealed 
continually  the  effects  of  his  early  training. 
Traces  of  the  Bible  and  Burns  appear  fre- 
quently in  his  works.  It  may  be  worth  while 
in  passing  to  call  attention  to  the  indelible 
stamp  made  on  one's  life  by  his  early  read- 
ing. For  this  reason  parents  should  see  to 
it  that  the  reading  of  the  children  is  of  the 
proper  sort.  And  since  the  Bible  has  played 
such  an  important  part  in  the  early  educa- 
tion of  so  many  of  our  greatest  writers  and 
orators,  it  would  be  well  for  the  parent  to- 
day to  ask  if  it  is  not  a  serious  mistake  to 
neglect  the  use  of  the  Bible  in  the  home 
where  children  are  growing.  Knowledge  of 
the  Bible  is  essential  to  a  liberal  education; 
neglect  of  it  in  the  home  is  almost  a  crime. 
If  not  taught  something  of  the  Bible  in  the 
home,  many  children  will  go  through  life  pa- 

187 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

rading'  their  ignorance  of  it,  for  they  will 
never  learn  it  elsewhere. 

''Snow-Bound"  is  a  description  of  Whit- 
tier's  own  home  during  the  period  the  family 
was  housed  up  by  the  raging  of  a  New  Eng- 
land snowstorm.  It  is  a  beautiful,  tender 
home  scene,  with  generous  descriptions  of 
the  forms  and  faces  at  the  fireside.  ' '  Snow- 
Bound"  has  been  called  the  American  com- 
panion piece  to  "The  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night,"  by  Robert  Burns.  While  both  are 
home  scenes,  there  is  a  striking  difference  be- 
tween them.  In  "The  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night"  the  prevailing  characteristic  is  the 
religious  spirit  of  the  home.  The  climax  is 
reached  when  the  father  spreads  the  open 
Bible  on  his  knees  and  says,  "Let  us  worship 
God. ' '    The  theme  there  is  God  at  the  fireside. 

"Snow-Bound,"  however,  is  different. 
No  prayer  is  mentioned  here.  We  are  not 
to  conclude  from  its  omission  that  there  was 
no  prayer  in  Whittier's  home,  for  that  would 
be  a  wrong  conclusion.  His  was  a  Quaker 
home.     The  Bible  was  tliere.     Prayer  was 

188 


SNOW-BOUND 

there.  There  is  in  ''Snow-Bound"  a  hint  of 
the  prayerful  spirit  when  the  mother  is  rep- 
resented as  pausing  a  moment  just  before 
going  to  bed  to  express  her  thankfulness  for 
food  and  shelter  from  the  storm,  and  her 
hope  that  none  might  lack,  that  fearful  night, 
for  bread  and  clothing  and  warmth;  but  no 
family  prayer  is  pictured.  It  was  not  in  the 
purpose  of  the  poet  to  dwell  so  much  upon 
the  religious  spirit  of  the  home,  which  is 
taken  for  granted,  as  upon  the  social  spirit 
of  the  home.  His  aim  is  to  present  the  forms 
and  faces,  the  splendid  social  communion  en- 
joyed, and  suggest  the  influencie  of  those  lives 
and  that  home  spirit  in  molding  the  charac- 
ter and  destiny  of  those  who  were  be- 
neath that  roof;  for  verilv  the  home  is  the 
mightiest  force  under  heaven  for  the  form- 
ing of  character.  It  is  there  the  impressions 
are  made  that  will  color  the  life.  It  is  there 
the  start,  is  made  which  determines  largely 
the  direction  of  life. 

The  voice  of  God  once  spake  to  Moses  as 
he   stood   before   Mount   Hebron   and   said, 

189 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

''The  place  whereon  thou  standest  is  holy 
ground."  As  we  come  up  to  this  Whittier 
home,  half  buried  in  the  drift  of  snow,  and 
are  about  to  enter  to  behold  the  scenes  within 
and  listen  to  those  voices  hushed  long  ago, 
a  sense  of  awe  oppresses  and  we  almost  hear 
a  voice  saying,  ''The  place  wliereon  thou 
standest  is  holy  ground."  Let  us  be  very 
quiet  now.  We  are  about  to  lift  the  curtain 
that  veils  a'  sacred  precinct.  We  are  to  look 
into  a  home— a  home  with  the  world  shut 
out;  with  the  inner  trust  and  fellowship  and 
love.    This  is  holy  ground. 

A  storm  has  raged  for  two  nights  and 
two  days.  The  scene  described  in  the  poem 
is  laid  in  the  third  night,  after  the  storm 
had  passed  and  paths  or  tunnels  through  the 
snow  had  been  made.  The  description  of 
that  storm  is  so  vivid  one  can  see  the  pic- 
ture and  appreciate  the  words  of  the  poet 
when  he  says  on  the  second  morning: 

We  looked  upon  a  world  unknown 
On  nothing  we  could  call  our  own — 
No  cloud  above,  no  earth  below 
A  universe  of  sky  and  snow." 

190 


SNOW-BOUND 

However,  we  will  not  stop  to  notice  the  de- 
scription of  the  storm,  magnificent  as  it  is, 
but  will  enter  the  snow-bound  home  and  look 
upon  the  scenes  therein. 

It  is  an  old-fashioned  country  home,  with 
the  cheerful  fireplace,  its  light  making  the 
room  burst,  flower-like,  into  rosy  bloom;  the 
oaken  log  and  stout  back-stick  and  old  and- 
irons ;  the  house  dog  with  paws  outspread  to- 
ward the  flame;  the  cat,  the  children's  pet; 
the  row  of  apples  sputtering  on  the  hearth; 
the  basket  of  nuts  close  at  hand ;  and  the  cli- 
max of  all,  the  group  of  forms  and  faces  cir- 
cled around  the  fireplace.  As  one  looks  upon 
the  scene  there  comes  a  feeling  of  homesick- 
ness, and  we  wish  we  might  go  back  again 
to  scenes  like  that  which  we  hold  dear  in  our 
memories.  But  each  oncoming  generation 
will  know  less  of  such  scenes,  for  times  are 
changed.  The  advent  of  the  furnace  and 
steam-heating  plant  has  robbed  us  of  the 
cheer  and  light  of  the  fireplace;  and  one  must 
feel  that,  while  we  have  gained  in  conveni- 
ence, we  have  lost  in  richness  of  cheer  and 

191 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

light;  for  there  is  soniethiug  about  the  glow 
of  the  old  fireside  that  grips  the  heart,  in- 
vites fellowship,  and  arouses  love.  The  fire- 
place in  the  Whittier  home  made  home  so 
comfortable  and  cheerful  that  those  within 
cared  little  for  the  weather  without.  Whit- 
tier has  paid  a  splendid  compliment  to  the 
drawing  power  of  that  home  when  he  says; 

Shut  in  from  all  the  world  without 
We  sat  the  clean  winged  hearth  about 
Content  to  let  the  north  wind  roar 
In  baffled  rage  at  pane  and  door. 

What  matter  how  the  night  behaved  ? 
What  matter  how  the  north  wind  raved."* 
Blow  high,  blow  low,  not  all  its  snow 
Could  quench  our  hearth- fire's  ruddy  glow." 

The  poet  has  grown  old;  his  hair  is  as 
white  as  was  his  sire's  in  that  snow-bound 
home,  but  the  memory  of  the  old  home  still 
holds  him.  The  faces  seen  around  the  fire- 
side have  vanished,  the  voices  are  hushed, 
but  that  fireplace  scene  is  a  prophecy  to  the 
poet    as    well    as    a    memoiy.      It    foretells 

192 


SNOW-BOUND 

anotlier  meeting-place;  and  that  prophecy 
promiDts  the  words  of  hope  that  many  have 
learned  to  love. 

"Alas  for  him  who  never  sees 
The  stars  shine  through  his  cypress  trees 
Who  hopeless  lays  his  dead  away 
Nor  looks  to  see  the  breaking  day 
Across  the  mournful  marbles  play. 
Who  hath  not  learned  in  hours  of  faith 

The  truth  to  flesh  and  sense  unknown, 
That  Life  is  ever  Lord  of  Death 

And  Love  can  never  lose  its  own." 

In  the  home  scene  described  in  this  poem 
there  are  two  features  that  are  prominent. 
The  first  is  the  pastimes  engaged  in  by  those 
at  the  fireside,  and  the  second  is  the  charac- 
ters of  those  at  the  fireside  as  described  by 
the  poet.  We  will  notice  both  of  these  fea- 
tures giving  special  attention  to  the  charac- 
ters. 

The  pastimes  engaged  in  by  the  children 
of  the  home  were  of  a  distinct  type.  It  will 
be  observed  that  they  were  not  of  the  frivo- 
lous or  trashy  sort;  they  were  elevating. 
They   possessed   an   intellectual   value   and 

13  193 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

tended  to  culture.  There  was  nothing  in 
them  calculated  to  dissipate  any  quality  of 
manhood  or  womanhood.  One  of  the  curses 
of  modern  home  life  is  the  cheap  and  dan- 
gerous pastimes  afforded  the  children.  They 
are  frequently  taught  to  engage  in  practices 
that  not  only  have  no  intellectual  or  culture 
value,  but  have  a  decidedly  dangerous  tend- 
ency. Children  certainly  should  have  amuse- 
ments in  the  home,  and  plenty  of  them ;  but 
why  not  have  the  best?  Why  not  have  the 
pastimes  such  as  will  give  not  merely  fun, 
but  an  impetus  to  intellectual  and  moral  at- 
tainment? 

In  the  "VYliittier  home  the  pastimes  were 
wholesome.  The  poet  says  they  sped  the 
time  with  stories  old,  wrought  puzzles  out, 
and  riddles  told,  or  stammered  out  their 
school-book  lore.  These  were  pastimes  cal- 
culated to  develop  the  best  in  the  children. 
The  stories  and  school-book  lore  developed 
the  power  of  conversation.  The  puzzles  and 
riddles  quickened  the  power  of  thought;  and 
all  tended  to  stimulate  the  intellectual  life. 

194 


SNOW-BOUND 

Here  was  a  scliooling  at  home,  and  it  was 
all  done  under  the  name  of  fun  or  pastime. 
Wise  parents,  those !  And  well  may  we  pray 
the  prayer  made  for  Abou  Ben  Adam,  ^ '  May 
their  tribe  increase!" 

There  are  eight  characters  in  the  circle 
of  that  home  described  by  Whittier.  This 
number  does  not  include  all  who  were  be- 
neath the  roof,  but  these  eight  are  described 
especially.  They  are  the  father,  mother, 
uncle,  aunt,  eldest  sister,  youngest  sister,  the 
schoolmaster,  and  the  unnamed  guest.  It  is 
not  our  purpose  to  present  each  of  these 
characters  in  full.  That  would  hardly  be  pos- 
sible in  a  brief  article.  We  will  notice  only 
those  which  seem  of  chief  importance  as 
stamping  and  molding  the  life  of  that  home. 
Of  these  the  father  and  mother  stand  first. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  with  what  rever- 
ence the  poet  speaks  of  his  father.  Why 
does  he  so  speak?  The  father  made  himself 
worthy  of  it.  Here  is  a  picture  of  a  father 
who  has  rare  wisdom  in  making  himself  an 
idol  of  the  children  by  showing  them  a  ten- 

195 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

der  interest  and  appealing  to  the  best  within 
their  natures.  A  father  should  ever  be  to 
his  children  an  ideal.  In  the  thought  of  the 
children  he  should  be  the  best  and  greatest 
man  in  all  the  world;  and  it  is  within  the 
power  of  a  father  to  so  enthrone  himself  in 
the  thought  of  his  children.  He  may  do  it  by 
doing  what  this  wise  Quaker  father  did:  be- 
coming one  with  the  children  by  entering  into 
their  interest  and  being  a  child  again  with 
them,  and  at  the  same  time  leading  their 
thought  to  subjects  that  are  elevating,  seri- 
ous, and  helpful.  Here  the  father  tells  sto- 
ries to  the  children,  and  ever  a  child  loves 
stories.  But  these  are  stories  in  which  there 
is  mingled  something  of  history,  of  nature, 
and  of  life.  In  all  the  father's  playing  of 
the  child  with  his  children  there  is  discover- 
able the  educational  jaurpose.  He  would  not 
only  entertain,  but  educate,  and  in  the  stories 
told  there  are  seeds  dropped  that  in  the  com- 
ing years  are  to  grow  into  Imowledge  and 
character. 

The  mother  is  one  with  the  father  in  pur- 

196 


SNOW-BOUND 

pose  and  spirit.  Her  children  hang  with  in- 
terest upon  her  words.  But  study  those 
words  and  you  find  the  same  educational  idea 
running  through  them.  She  deals  with  his- 
tory, the  scenes  from  her  own  life,  her  girl- 
hood experiences,  which  give  her  children 
glimpses  of  other  days.  Nor  does  the  good 
mother  omit  the  Christian  touch,  but  tells  of 
''faith  fire-winged  by  martyrdom"  and  of  a 
Providence  that  draws  the  thought  of  the 
children  to  God.  Thus  the  members  around 
the  fireside  ''sped  the  time  with  stories  old, 
wrought  puzzles  out,  and  riddles  told."  It 
was  a  circle  of  children;  some  with  white 
locks  and  bent  forms,  but  children  still.  Lit- 
tle wonder  the  poet  says  of  that  cheerful 
scene  on  that  stormy  night: 

' '  What  matter  how  the  night  behaved  ? 
What  matter  how  the  north  wind  raved.'' 
Blow  high,  blow  low,  not  all  its  snow 
Could  quench  the  hearth-fire's  ruddy  glow." 

Nothing  could  quench  the  hearth-fire's  ruddy 
glow,  because  of  that  spirit  of  fellowship  and 

197 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

mutual  interest  abounding  there.  Fatlier  and 
mother  were  children  with  the  children,  mak- 
ing home  the  dearest  sj^ot  in  all  the  world 
k)  them. 

Fortunate  is  that  home  where  children  sit 
in  attitude  reverent  and  glad  while  parents 
speak,  and  where  children  treasure  in  their 
young  hearts  the  words  spoken.  Those 
words  will  speak  in  memory  long  after  the 
children  have  grown  to  manhood  and  woman- 
hood. They  will  speak  as  voices  from  the 
past.  Blessed  is  the  one  in  whose  memory 
those  voices  speak.  Alas  for  him  who  as  he 
goes  hears  no  voices  from  other  days  in- 
spiring him  with  ambition  and  with  hope ! 

Such  home  scenes  as  described  in  this 
poem  are  important,  as  they  affect  the  for- 
mation of  character.  A  powerful  place  for 
forming  character  is  the  fireside,  and  empha- 
sis needs  to  be  placed  upon  the  value  of  the 
fireside  as  a  training-ground  for  character. 
So  tremendous  is  the  wholesome  influence  of 
a  happy  fireside  that  we  suffer  an  irrepar- 
able loss  when  we  allow  that   influence  to 

198 


SNOW-BOUND 

wane.  We  should  carefully  guard  tlie  home 
as  the  center  of  gravity  for  the  child's  life, 
and  see  that  it  is  not  neglected  or  despised 
while  other  dangerous  and  questionable  sub- 
stitutes are  offered  by  a  mercenary  world. 
Children  are  much  better  off  in  a  home  scene 
like  that  in  "Snow-Bound"  than  they  are 
when  in  the  unnatural  and  unwholesome  en- 
vironments of  cheap  shows  and  questionable 
amusements.  Let  the  home  scenes  pass  away 
and  the  vaudeville  become  the  place  of  chief 
attraction  to  the  child,  and  the  loss  in  char- 
acter and  morals  will  be  serious  in  the  com- 
ing generation. 

There  are  many  of  us  who  remember 
home  scenes  which  we  are  unwilling  should 
ever  grow  dim  as  the  years  hurry  by.  We 
sat  around  the  fireside  with  the  family;  we 
read,  and  played  games  that  had  a  real  edu- 
cational value;  we  listened  to  tales  of  his- 
toric and  classic  nature;  we  stood  by  the 
piano  or  organ  and  mingled  our  voices  in 
song;  and  the  influence  of  that  scene  is  with 
us  to-day— it  can  not  die.    To-day  the  need 

199 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

is  as  great  as  ever  for  such  homes  and  such 
scenes.  Parents  need  to  unite  with  children 
in  making  home  the  dearest  spot  on  earth. 
Henry  "Ward  Beecher  could  get  down  on  his 
knees  and  play  horse  with  the  children.  Rob- 
ert Browning's  father  used  to  take  Robert 
on  his  knee  in  the  library,  and  the  child  would 
listen  ''with  enthralled  attention  to  the  tale 
of  Troy,  with  marvelous  illustrations  among 
the  glowing  coals  in  the  fireplace."  William 
E.  Gladstone  used  to  "teeter-totter"  the 
children  on  his  knee  and  tell  them  tales 
suited  to  their  childish  fancies.  Dr.  Hanson, 
the  Baptist  divine,  was  once  thought  by  a 
servant  girl  to  be  insane  because  he  romped 
so  vigorously  with  the  children  in  the  back- 
yard. All  these  facts  speak  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  great  in  being  children  with  the  chil- 
dren and  making  home  a  dear  spot  for  them. 
We  need  great  emphasis  here.  Let  the  fire- 
side scene  of  ''Snow-Bound"  never  pass 
away.  Let  it  be  multiplied  until  it  shall  be 
reproduced  in  every  home  of  our  land. 

While  the  father  and  mother  are  charac- 

200 


SNOW-BOUND 

ters  of  particular  importance  in  this  home 
scene,  there  are  other  characters  described, 
which  should  not  be  entirely  omitted.  The 
good  uncle  is  worthy  of  mention.  Evidently 
he  was  revered  in  the  home,  and  his  influence 
upon  the  young  life  in  the  family  circle  was 
salutary.  He  was  a  tj^e  of  untaught  genius. 
He  was  learned,  and  yet  not  taught  in  the 
schools.  His  learning  was  not  that  of  books, 
but  of  instinct  and  experience.  He  was  a. 
friend  of  nature.    Whittier  describes  him  as 

"a  simple,  guileless,  childiike  man, 
Content  to  live  where  life  began." 

He  was  a  man  of  sound  judgment  and  much 
common  sense.  Withal  he  possessed  marked 
character  force,  and  this  was  the  force  that 
made  the  impression  on  young  life.  These 
rude,  practical  qualities  constituted  the  uncle 
a  character  not  soon  forgotten.  The  poet 
holds  him  in  sacred  memory.  The  influence 
of  such  lives  is  to  bind  young  lives  not  only 
to  themselves,  but  to  the  virtues  exhibited  in 
their  artless  lives. 

201 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

We  are  indebted  not  alone  to  the  schol- 
arly friends  of  early  days— to  those  who  were 
schooled  in  university  halls:  we  owe  a  large 
debt  to  those  plain,  simple  folk  whose  ac- 
quaintance with  books  was  limited,  but  whose 
experience  in  nature's  school  was  large. 
Seers  tliey  were  of  the  common  life,  and  they 
taught  much  that  never  could  have  been 
learned  from  books.  They  possessed  a  wis- 
dom hardly  bom  of  earth,  and  by  their  words 
our  young  lives  were  led  in  wisdom's  ways. 
Let  us  rear  our  monuments  to  the  memory 
of  the  sage  uncles  who,  learned  in  nature's 
school,  were  teachers  of  the  way  of  truth  to 
our  young  lives. 

Another  figure  at  the  fireside  sits  en- 
throned in  a  sort  of  sacred  glory  by  the 
poet's  tribute.  It  is  the  old  maid  aunt.  A 
blessed,  holy,  noble  woman  is  she,  as  old 
maids  are  wont  to  be.  She  is  a  type  of  many 
worthy  souls  who,  while  deprived  of  much  of 
life's  joy,  are  yet  givers  of  much  of  life's 
blessedness.  These  are  women  who  are  de- 
nied much,  and  yet  grow  sweet  on  the  denial. 

202 


SNOW-BOUND 

Their  lives  have  not  been  turned  to  vibrate 
with  the  wifely  privileges  or  motherly  duties 
of  domestic  life,  yet  they  offer  no  suggestion 
of  discontent;  they  strike  no  note  of  discord, 
yet  ever  add  a  minor  strain  of  sweetness  that 
enriches  the  home  life  touched  by  them.  Of 
this  old-maid  aunt  Whittier  says  she  was  the 

Sweetest  woman  ever  Fate 
Perverse  denied  a  household  mate." 

And  when  Whittier  says  that  we  all  felt  like 
saying,  "Wait  a  moment,  John;  there  are 
others;"  for  yon  and  I  know  such  lives  that 
are  as  sweet  as  tiie  life  of  Whittier 's  aunt, 
and  while  we  will  allow  him  to  say  his  was 
one  of  the  sweetest,  we  will  not  allow  him 
to  exclude  our  old-maid  aunts  by  saying  his 
was  the  sweetest.  However,  we  will  agree 
with  him  in  the  tribute  he  pays  to  these  noble 
aunts  and  join  with  him  in  pronouncing  an 
anathema  upon  all  who  would  despise  them, 
and  with  him  say: 

*  *  Be  shame  to  him  of  woman  born 
Who  hath  for  such  but  thought  of  scorn." 
203 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

There  is  much  of  pathos  in  tlie  poet's 
reference  to  the  youngest  sister,  the  idol  of 
the  household;  for  she  has  left  the  circle  of 
the  living  and,  like  the  elder  sister,  has  been 
laid  to  rest  beneath  the  low,  green  tent ;  and 
as  the  heart  of  the  poet  overflows  in  its  sor- 
row at  the  loss,  it  reveals  much  of  his  re- 
ligious faith.  He  believes  in  the  future  ex- 
istence, for  he  says  that  she  is  resting  in 
the  holy  peace  of  paradise.  He  halfway  be- 
lieves in  the  nearness  of  our  departed 
friends : 

1  can  not  feel  that  thou  art  far 
Since  near  at  hand  the  angels  are." 

He  believes  fully  in  a  conscious  meeting  of 
spirits  in  the  hereafter,  for  he  says: 

And  when  the  sunset  gates  unbar 
Shall  I  not  see  thee  waiting  stand, 

And  white  against  the  evening  star 

The  welcome  of  thy  beckoning  hand  ?  ' ' 

The  couutrv  school  teacher  who  boarded 
with  the  Whittier  family  was  also  an  impor- 
tant figure  in  the  group  at  the  fireside.  The 
poet  reveres  his  memory  because  the  school- 

204 


SNOW-BOUND 

master  meant  so  much  to  his  early  days.  He 
was  a  learned  young  man,  full  of  spirit,  and 
athletic  in  his  tendencies.  He  was  a  man 
among  men  and  a  student  among  students. 
Just  such  a  man  was  he  as  would  appeal  to 
a  growing  boy.  From  this  teacher  in  his 
home  the  poet  doubtless  received  much  of 
his  inspiration  toward  reading  and  some  of 
his  development  in  intelligence.  A  type  he 
is  of  a  large  class  of  men  and  women  who 
have  left  to  our  land  a  priceless  heritage. 
They  are  the  men  and  women  who  have  been 
the  instructors  of  our  youth  and  who  have 
created  in  our  breasts  yearning  for  culture, 
for  manhood,  for  patriotism.  They  are  the 
men  who  by  setting  a  '^schoolhouse  plant  on 
every  hill  and  stretching  in  radiate  nerve- 
lines,  thence  the  quick  wires  of  intelligence," 
have  done  much  to  bring  our  land  to  the  po- 
sition of  prominence  and  power  she  enjoys 
to-day.  Goldsmith,  in  his  ''Deserted  Vil- 
lage," describes  two  characters  who  were 
forces  in  the  affairs  of  the  village  life.  One 
was  the  village  preacher,  and  the  other  the 

205 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

village  teacher ;  and  these  two  have  ever  been 
co-laborers  in  the  advancing  of  the  interests 
of  mankind.  Here  Whittier  is  giving  the 
school-teacher  his  share  of  credit.  In  this 
he  teaches  the  world  a  lesson.  Stand  by  the 
benefactors  of  the  race.  Honor  the  teachers 
of  our  youth.  Stand  by  them  in  their  toil. 
Their  task  is  a  hard  one.  Reserve  your  criti- 
cism and  condemnation;  speak  rather  the 
words  that  show  that  their  work  is  appreci- 
ated and  that  the  debt  of  the  world  to  them 
is  gladly  acknowledged. 

Not  a  character  is  described  in  that  fam- 
ily circle  but  that  in  tlie  description  you 
rhay  find  the  influence  of  that  character  on 
the  life  of  the  growing  boy  who  came  to  be 
poet.  The  whole  joicture  speaks  in  mighty 
words  the  power  of  home  influence  on  young 
life.  That  influence  the  poet  can  not  escape. 
That  home  he  must  ever  love.  And  oft  in 
memory  he  journeys  back,  nor  would  he  go 
alone.     To  us  he  sends  the  invitation: 

Sit  with  me  by  the  homestead  hearth 
And  stretch  the  hands  of  memory  forth 
To  warm  them  at  the  wood- fire's  blaze !  " 

206 


SNOW-BOUND 

Many  of  us  gladly  accept  the  invitation 
of  the  poet  and  warm  the  hands  of  memory 
at  the  wood-fire's  blaze.  We  love  the  fireside 
and  the  old  home.  It  was  there  our  eyes  were 
first  opened  to  the  world's  largeness.  There 
our  thought  was  made  to  grasp  the  meaning 
of  life.  There  our  hearts  were  opened  by  the 
mystic  keys  of  fellowship  to  display  a  rest- 
ing-place for  love.  There  our  faith  was  first 
aroused  to  speak  the  name  of  God  our  Fa- 
ther. There  the  man  that  is  to-day  had  his 
beginnings  in  the  boy  that  was.  Because  of  all 
this,  home  was  the  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  us. 

Home  prepared  us  not  for  dreaming,  but 
for  doing.  The  voice  of  duty  calls  to  the 
struggle  for  which  a  good  home  prepared  us. 
Eeluctantly,  therefore,  we  must  drop  the  cur- 
tain on  the  scene  of  home  with  its  blessed 
memories  and  sacred  influences  and  walk  out 
into  life's  activities,  saying  with  Whittier: 

I  hear  again  the  voice  that  bids 
The  dreamer  leave  his  dream  midway 
For  larger  hopes  and  graver  fears ; 
Life  greatens  in  these  later  years, 
The  century's  aloe  flowers  to-day !  " 

207 


VIII 

SAUL; 
OR, 
THE  AWAKENING  OF  A  SOUL 


14 


SAUL; 
OR, 
THE  AWAKENING  OF  A  SOUL 

J.  G.  Holland  in  his  *' Bitter-Sweet"  makes 
one  of  his  characters  say,  *'It  is  a  fearful 
thing  to  take  in  hand  the  guidance  of  a  stray- 
ing soul."  Those  whose  lot  it  has  been  to 
become  spiritual  guides  have  felt  the  truth 
of  that  utterance.  But  it  is  just  as  true  that 
it  is  a  fearful  thing  to  take  in  hand  the  task 
of  awakening  a  soul  that  has  fallen  into  the 
deadly  stupor  of  despair.  When  all  hope  has 
gone  out  of  life  and  the  soul  has  become  en- 
slaved by  a  despair  that  would  welcome 
death,  it  is  a  solemn  task  to  attempt  an 
awakening  that  shall  rekindle  hope  and  re- 
new the  wild  joy  of  living.  This  is  the  task 
that  is  pictured  in  Robert  Browning's  poem 

''Saul." 

211 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

The  true  poet  is  one  who  deals  with  mo- 
mentous themes  and  makes  his  verse  the 
vehicle  for  transmitting  messages  of  worth. 
To  make  rhyme  is  not  necessarily  to  make 
poetrj^  Poetry  is  more  than  rhyme.  The 
light,  senseless  jingles  that  so  often  find  their 
way  into  print  are  not  poetry.  To  be  a  verse 
juggler  is  not  to  be  a  poet.  The  poet  has 
serious  business.  He  deals  with  important 
themes.  It  has  been  rightly  said  that  true 
poetry  has  three  themes:  Life,  Nature,  and 
God.  The  work  of  the  poet,  then,  is  to  be 
a  student  and  interpreter  of  these  three. 
His  task  is  to  grasp  truth  in  its  relation  to 
God  and  nature  and  man,  and  through  verse 
convey  that  truth  to  the  world.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  the  poet  deserves  a  place  along- 
side of  the  prophet  and  the  seer. 

It  is  in  this  deeper  sense  that  Browning 
is  a  true  poet.  He  is  a  poet-student,  a  poet- 
philosopher,  a  poet-theologian.  He  is  a  type 
of  the  polished  gentleman  among  men  of  let- 
ters. What  Longfellow  was  as  a  precise  gen- 
tleman and  polished  writer  on  this  side  of 

212 


SAUL 

the  ocean,  Browning  was  on  the  other  side. 
Both  were  clean,  true,  and  manly.  A  differ- 
ence, however,  exists  in  this,  that  in  Long- 
fellow the  heart  speaks  oftenest,  while  in 
Browning  the  head  speaks  most.  Browning 
is  thought,  rugged  and  profound.  Longfel- 
low thought,  but  when  he  wrote  he  spilled 
his  heart  on  the  page.  He  will  be  remem- 
bered more  for  the  tender  sentiment  that  ap- 
peals to  the  heart  than  for  the  deeper  mes- 
sage that  makes  the  brain  ache.  Browning 
poured  his  thought  out  on  the  page,  and  not 
infrequently  the  heart  froze  up  while  the 
mind  was  on  fire. 

Browning  was  unusual  in  his  variety  of 
attainment.  His  culture  was  many-sided. 
He  was  reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  refine- 
ment. He  heard  the  deeds  of  the  Greek  he- 
roes discussed  at  the  fireside  when  he  was 
but  a  boy.  He  became  a  boy-student  of  clas- 
sic language.  He  learned  music  and  art.  He 
became  a  good  pianist.  He  modeled  in  clay 
with  such  aptness  that  his  friends  thought 
that  he  might  have  become  a  noted  sculptor. 

213 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Back  of  all  Browning's  rare  qualities  lay 
a  physical  constitution  so  robust  that  it  fur- 
nished an  unfailing  source  of  energy.  Per- 
haps much  of  the  vigor  of  his  writings  is 
due  to  the  vigor  of  his  physical  manhood. 
Browning  had  no  lifelong  struggle  with  dis- 
ease, as  did  Stevenson.  He  had  no  battle 
against  johysical  misfortune,  as  did  Milton  or 
Prescott.  He  was  the  personification  of 
health  and  strength.  In  his  ''Saul"  he  says, 
''0,  the  wild  joy  of  living!"  and,  ''How  good 
is  man's  life,  the  mere  living!"  These  ex- 
IDressions  are  doubtless  the  utterance  of  the 
poet's  own  experience.  Blessed  with  health, 
strength,  culture,  and  plenty  of  life's  goods, 
he  could  with  naturalness  cry,  "0,  the  wild 
joy  of  living!" 

Being,  as  he  was,  a  gentleman  of  polish, 
living  on  a  high  jolane  physically  and  men- 
tally, it  is  not  surprising  that  Browning's 
writings  should  strike  the  high,  clear  notes 
which  characterize  them.  In  his  case  no 
apology  need  be  offered  for  the  poet  or  the 
poetry  so  far  as  morality  is  concerned. 

214 


SAUL 

One's  introduction  to  the  poetry  of 
Browning'  is  seldom  a  case  of  love  at  first 
sight.  He  is  a  poet  who  improves  with  ac- 
quaintance. The  first  impression  of  him  is 
often  a  disappointment,  because  he  is  pro- 
found and  somewhat  obscure.  His  poetry  is 
not  so  easily  understood  that  he  who  runs 
may  read.  In  fact,  Browning  can  not  be 
read;  he  must  be  studied.  To  understand 
him  is  not  easy.  When  Browning  had  se- 
cretly married  Elizabeth  Barrett,  William 
Wordsworth  made  this  comment : '  ^  So  Robert 
Browning  has  gone  off  with  Elizabeth  Bar- 
rett. Well,  I  hope  they  may  understand  each 
other— nobody  else  ever  could."  The  com- 
ment may  be  somewhat  severe,  but  it  empha- 
sizes a  truth  very  apparent  to  every  student 
of  Browning,  namely:  that  he  is  difficult  to 
understand.  His  narratives,  which  one  might 
suppose  would  be  the  easiest  mastered,  are 
made  difficult  by  the  burden  of  his  philoso- 
phy of  life  and  views  of  theology.  His  char- 
acters are  so  shrouded  in  idealistic  concep- 
tions and  spiritual  suggestiveness  that  there 

215 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

must  be  a  discriminating  unrobing  before 
their  beauty  or  meaning  is  comprehended. 
One  may  read  the  ''Evangeline"  of  Longfel- 
low or  the  ''Enoch  Arden"  of  Tennyson  and 
easily  follow  the  onward  movement  of  the 
narrative,  and  readily  grasp  the  significance 
of  the  characters  portrayed.  But  not  so  with 
Browning.  Browning  is  a  synonym  for  ob- 
scurity—or better,  profundity.  His  poetry  is 
a  mine  of  gold,  but  the  metal  lies  not  in  the 
surface.  It  is  possessed  by  a  j^rocess  of  dig- 
ging. This  is  true  of  the  poem  "Saul," 
which  is  now  under  consideration. 

The  poem  "Saul"  has  an  historic  back- 
ground. It  is  based  on  the  Biblical  account 
of  an  incident  that  occurred  in  the  life  of 
King  Saul,  as  recorded  in  1  Samuel  XVL, 
14-23.  This  incident  is  placed  in  the  period 
of  Saul's  reign  as  king  of  Israel.  According 
to  the  Biblical  account,  when  Saul  had  been 
anointed,  the  spirit  of  the  Lord  came  upon 
him.  In  mind  and  heart  ho  assumed  the 
royal  mien.     He  was  full  of  optimism  and 

kingly  ambition.    He  thought  noble  thoughts 

216 


SAUL 

and  did  noble  deeds.  But  finally  it  is  said 
that  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  departed  from 
Saul.  The  cause  of  this  departure  is  rep- 
resented as  being  Saul's  rejection  of  the 
Lord.  He  became  disobedient  in  heart,  re- 
bellious, and  selfish,  following  personal  ends 
rather  than  the  will  of  God.  Hence  the  Spirit 
of  the  Lord,  which  had  been  his  abiding  bene- 
factor, departed  from  him. 

Another  statement  is  made  in  the  account 
which  is  important.  ''An  evil  spirit  from 
the  Lord  troubled  him."  A  twofold  change 
has  then  occurred  in  the  inner  life  of  Saul. 
The  good  Spirit  had  left  him,  the  bad  spirit 
has  come  to  haunt  him.  Here  is  a  picture 
of  a  man  in  a  tragic  situation.  He  is  aban- 
doned of  good  and  possessed  of  evil.  He  is 
played  upon  by  melancholy  and  gloom  until 
he  sinks  into  a  state  of  utter  despair.  He  is 
a  man  without  hope  or  ambition,  in  the  stupor 
of  spiritual  apathy. 

In  picturing  this  condition  of  Saul  the  sa- 
cred writer  has  been  true  to  the  laws  of  both 
psychology  and  religion.     The  mind  is  sub- 

217 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

ject  to  the  reign  of  hope  or  despair.  When 
hope  goes  out  despair  comes  in.  And  speak- 
ing religiously,  the  exodus  of  good  from  the 
life  is  the  signal  for  the  advent  of  evil.  The 
human  heart  is  no  vacuum.  It  requires  an 
occupant.  Some  force  must  live  and  rule 
within.  And  if  tliat  force  be  not  good  it  will 
be  evil.  In  this  narrative  Saul  is  one  from 
whom  good  has  departed,  while  evil  has  come. 
In  his  condition  of  hopelessness  one  op- 
portunity of  relief  is  offered  him.  His  serv- 
ants suggest  that  a  skilled  harpist  and  singer 
be  brought  before  him  to  sooth  him  by  the 
power  of  song,  and  by  the  charm  of  music 
stir  him  back  to  life  again.  Saul  having 
given  his  consent,  David  the  son  of  Jesse  is 
brought  before  him.  A  striking  contrast  is 
here  presented  by  the  sacred  writer,  which 
is  too  significant  to  be  overlooked.  Saul  is 
represented  as  being  one  from  whom  the 
Spirit  of  the  Lord  has  departed,  while  David 
is  one  filled  with  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord. 
Saul  is  swayed  by  the  spirit  of  evil,  and  Da- 
vid by  the  spirit  of  good.    It  is  a  contest  be- 

218 


SAUL 

tween  spirits  as  well  as  men.  The  real  task 
presented  is  the  awakening  of  a  soul  that 
has  been  rocked  to  sleep  by  evil.  The  awak- 
ening is  to  be  done  by  one  filled  with  the 
Spirit  of  God. 

The  scene  is  therefore  one  worthy  of  the 
skill  of  a  great  artist  or  author.  It  is  not 
surprising,  then,  that  Browning  has  hit  upon 
this  scene  and  made  it  the  foundation  for  one 
of  his  greatest  poems.  In  his  poem  "Saul" 
he  reproduces  poetically  the  incident  just 
narrated,  and  represents  David  as  speaking 
his  own  description  of  what  occurred.  But 
Browning  does  not  stop  with  the  narrative 
merely.  He  uses  it  as  a  starting  point  only, 
and  from  it  moves  on  to  make  some  deduc- 
tions theological  and  jDractical  in  their  na- 
ture. In  fact,  Browning  uses  the  poem  as  a 
vehicle  for  conveying  his  belief  that  love  is 
an  unfailing  power  of  the  Almighty  whidh 
realizes  itself  in  making  the  soul  of  man  im- 
mortal. 

In  the  introduction  to  the  poem,  Abner, 
the  cousin  of  Saul  and  commander-in-chief  of 

219 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

his  army,  makes  an  address  to  David.  In 
that  address  he  says  to  David:  "At  last  thou 
art  come.  Ere  I  tell,  ere  thou  speak,  kiss 
my  cheek,  wish  me  well."  The  salute  is 
given,  and  then  in  his  address  Abner  ap- 
prises David  of  the  condition  of  King  Saul, 
and  of  the  extreme  suspense  which  Abner  and 
his  friends  have  endured  for  the  past  three 
days,  during  which  time  Saul  had  been  in  his 
strange  mood  in  the  black  mid-tent's  silence. 
Abner  further  expresses  the  hope  in  his  heart 
that  David  may  be  able  to  restore  the  king, 
and  vows  to  neither  eat  nor  drink  until  the 
news  is  brought  back  that  the  crisis  is  past 
and  the  king  is  restored. 

The  address  of  Abner  having  ended,  Da- 
vid is  represented  by  the  poet  as  approach- 
ing the  task  of  awakening  the  despondent 
spirit  of  Saul.  True  to  the  character  of 
David  as  described  in  the  AYord,  the  poet  pic- 
tures him  as  praying  to  the  God  of  his  fa- 
thers before  he  begins  his  solemn  task.  Then 
David  runs  to  the  tent  where  the  king  is.  A 
second  time  he  j^auses  to  pray  before  begin- 

220 


SAUL 

ning  his  work.  Then  he  addresses  the  king, 
''Here  is  David  thy  servant."  Deathlike  si- 
lence was  the  only  answer.  All  was  darkness 
within  the  tent.  But  a  sunbeam  which  finally 
burst  into  the  darkness  of  the  tent  revealed 
Saul.  He  leaned  against  the  central  tent 
pole,  his  arms  outstretched  along  the  cross- 
beam that  ran  to  each  side  of  the  tent.  He 
seemed  to  hang  there  like  "the  king  serpent 
all  heavily  hangs  in  the  pine  till  deliverance 
come  with  the  springtime. ' '  David  tuned  his 
harp,  and  with  music's  aid  began  the  work 
of  awakening  a  soul  blind  and  dumb.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  the  process  of  that  awak- 
ening. 

First,  David  played  upon  his  hai^  tunes 
that  may  be  called  nature  tunes.  They  were 
strains  calculated  to  appeal  to  the  creatures 
of  the  field.  They  were  tunes  David  had 
played  on  the  hillsides  and  in  the  valleys,  and 
had  noted  their  stirring  effect  upon  the  quail, 
the  cricket,  and  the  jerboa.  Thus  the  harpist 
tested  the  king  at  the  lowest  level,  seeming  to 
recognize  that  the  spirit  of  the  man  had  left 

221 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

him  and  that  in  his  despair  he  had  fallen  to 
the  level  of  the  creatures  of  the  field. 

Then  the  harjoist  rose  a  step  higher  in  the 
scale  of  life  and  jDlayed  the  tunes  of  human 
employments;  tunes  calculated  to  appeal  not 
so  much  to  the  creatures  of  the  field  as  to 
the  spirit  of  man.  He  played  the  songs  of 
the  reapers,  the  funeral  hymn,  the  wedding 
march,  and  the  music  of  worship  which  the 
Levites  used  as  they  went  up  to  the  altar  of 
God.  Then  the  first  sign  of  life  was  given 
by  Saul.  He  groaned.  The  tunes  of  human 
emj^loyments  had  found  an  entrance  some- 
where through  the  armor  of  his  deadness, 
and  he  groaned.  Then  David  paused,  held 
his  breath,  and  listened  in  silence.  Saul 
shuddered  and  his  head  moved  till  the  jewels 
he  wore  in  his  turban  sparkled.  But  the  body 
moved  not. 

Encouraged  by  these  signs  of  awakening 
David  bent  again  to  his  task.  Now  he  not 
only  played,  but  sang.  The  human  voice 
mingled  with  the  music  of  the  harp.  And  the 
subject  of  the  song  was  life;  the  wild  joy 

^  ^  ^ 


SAUL 

of  living.  ''How  good  is  man's  life,  the  mere 
living!"  sang  the  musician.  Then,  in  order 
to  magnify  the  goodness  of  living,  he  began 
to  awaken  in  the  king  the  memories  of  the 
past.  From  the  glory  of  living  in  general 
he  passed  to  the  personal  life  of  the  king. 
He  went  back  to  the  boyhood  days  and  called 
np  memories  of  father,  mother,  brothers,  and 
friends.  He  sang  of  the  fame  which  had 
come  to  the  king;  the  glory  of  one  life  in 
the  kingdom,  and  the  honor  of  the  people  lav- 
ished upon  that  one  life,  namely— King  Saul ! 
Here  the  climax  of  the  singer's  effort  is 
reached.  Hand,  heart,  harp,  and  voice  are 
united  in  the  effort  to  arouse  the  king  to  life. 
The  limit  of  the  musician's  ability  is  reached, 
and  all  the  intensity  of  the  life  and  the  pas- 
sion of  the  heart  are  poured  forth  in  that 
one  word  ''Saul."  It  is  a  call  for  the  dead 
to  awaken  to  life.  As  we  hear  it  we  are  in- 
stinctively made  to  think  of  the  Christ  stand- 
ing before  the  tomb  in  which  a  dead  form 
had  rested  for  four  days,  and  crying,  "Laza- 
rus,   come    forth!"      And    here,    as    David 

223 


TPIE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

throws  heart,  harp,  soul,  and  song  into  that 
word  "Saul"  it  becomes  a  resurrection  call. 
The  result  was  life.  "One  long  shudder 
thrilled  all  the  tent  till  the  very  air  tingled." 
The  king  now  stood  released  before  the 
singer.  But  the  situation  was  still  a  terrible 
one;  for  while  death  was  past,  life  had  not 
fully  come.  The  task  still  remained  of  nour- 
ishing an  awakened  spirit  back  to  life  and 
strength. 

Again  the  harpist  sang,  but  it  was  of  a 
new  theme — a  theme  to  sustain  the  king 
where  song  had  restored  him.  David  had 
sung  of  mere  mortal  life  held  in  common  by 
man  and  brute,  but  now  he  sang  a  different 
song.  It  was  of  the  immortality  of  the  in- 
fluence of  man.  As  the  palm  tree  shall  decay 
and  be  known  no  more,  but  the  palm  wine, 
the  fruit,  shall  endure  into  the  winter,  so, 
though  the  physical  life  of  man  shall  pass 
away,  yet  the  influence  of  his  life  shall  en- 
dure to  coming  generations.  So  David  sang. 
Saul  may  die,  but  his  influence  will  be  carried 
through  the  years.    The  harpist  had  sung  of 

224 


SAUL 

the  past  joys  of  living  and  of  tlie  present 
glory  of  the  king,  but  now  at  last  he  sang  of 
the  future  stretch  of  his  fame  and  influence. 

Under  the  inspiration  of  this  new  song 
Saul's  awakened  spirit  was  quickened.  He 
sank  to  the  ground  and  listened  to  the  sing- 
ing until  David  touched  on  the  fame  that 
should  be  his  in  all  time,  and  the  praise  that 
should  come  from  all  men.  Then,  as  the 
thought  of  the  immortality  of  influence  found 
him,  the  king  raised  his  limp  arm  and  placed 
his  hand  as  if  in  benediction  on  the  head  of 
the  singer  and  looked  searchingly  into  the 
face  of  the  servant  of  God  who  had  called 
him  back  to  life.  Then  the  heart  of  the  singer 
leaped  with  a  new  impulse.  It  was  the  im- 
pulse of  love.  ''And,  0,  all  my  heart,  how  it 
loved  him ! ' '  Under  the  pressure  of  that  im- 
pulse the  singer  cried,  "Could  I  help  thee, 
I  would  add  to  that  life  of  the  past,  both 
the  future  and  this.  I  would  give  thee  new 
life  altogether,  as  good  ages  hence  as  this 
moment. ' ' 

Notice  carefully  the  situation  here.  The 
15  225 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

singer  has  tasted  the  experience  of  awaken- 
ing^a  soul  to  life.  An  intense  love  for  the 
awakened  soul  is  kindled  in  the  heart  of  the 
awakener.  The  outcome  of  that  love  is  a 
desire  to  confer  upon  the  awakened  soul  an 
eternal  existence.  The  logic  is  that  if  there 
.  is  joy  in  living  there  is  greater  joy  in  eter- 
nal living.  But  now  a  strange  thing  hap- 
pens.  In  the  exjjerience  taking  place  in  the 
heart  of  the  singer  he  sees  a  suggestion  of 
what  must  have  taken  place  in  the  heart  of 
God.  God  has  awakened  the  human  soul  to 
life.  He  loves  the  awakened  life.  His  love 
can  Jo  nothing  less  than  confer  on  that  life 
an  immortal  existence.  If  man  loving  a  mor- 
tal* would  confer  on  him  immortal  existence, 
God,-  loving  manldnd,  can  do  nothing  less. 
And  so  by  this  process  of  reasoning  the 
siiiger  passes  from  a  desire  for  eternal  life 
to  a  firm  faith  in  the  existence  of  that  life, 
made  possible  by  God's  love.  Passing  thus 
from  a  singer  to  a  believer,  he  cries:  *'I  be- 
lieve it.  'T  is  Thou,  God,  that  gavest,  't  is  I 
who  receive."    And  then  follows  the  glorious 

226 


SAUL 

conclusion  anticipating  an  eternal  entrance 
into  life:  ^'0  Saul,  it  shall  be  a  Face  like 
my  face  that  receives  thee ;  a  Man  like  to  me, 
thou  shalt  love  and  be  loved  by  forever:  a 
Hand  like  this  hand  shall  throw  open 'the 
gates  of  new  live  to  thee!  See  the  Christ 
stand!" 

The  conclusion  of  the  poem  represents  a 
complete  transformation  as  having  taken 
place  in  the  inner  life  of  David.  Like  one 
walking  through  a  strange  world  he  found 
his  way  home  from  the  tent  of  Saul  that 
night.  ''The  whole  earth  was  awakened,  hell 
loosed  with  her  crews,  and  the  stars  of  night 
beat  with  emotion,  and  tingled  and  shot  olit 
in  fire  the  strong  pain  of  pent  knowledge." 
David  passed  through  as  a  runner  beset  by 
the  populace  famished  for  news.  But  with 
the  birth  of  a  new  day  all  trouble  ceased  and 
a  strange  calm  flooded  the  world.  All  crea- 
tures seemed  conscious  of  the  new  law  of 
love  that  filled  the  singer's  heart.  The  for- 
est, the  wild  beast,  the  birds,  even  the  ser- 
pent gave  evidence  of  the  new  law's  power. 

227 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

And  the  little  brooks  murmured,  ''Even  so, 
it  is  so." 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  masterpiece 
of  Browning?  The  answer  is  not  difficult  in 
the  light  ■  of  what  has  been  said  before. 
Browning's  Saul  is  a  profound  treatise  on 
the  life  of  man  in  its  relation  to  God  and 
humanity.  It  represents  the  dignity  of  life, 
the  love  of  God,  and  the  poet's  faith  in  the 
immortality  of  the  soul.  The  poem  has  its 
foundation  in  Browning's  i)hilosophy  and 
theology.  His  philosophy  deals  with  the  life 
of  man.  In  this  thought  living  is  glorious. 
*'0,  the  wild  joys  of  living."  Life  is  a  strug- 
gle upward  out  of  despair  and  entanglements 
toward  God.  The  end  of  the  struggle  is  eter- 
nal life.  One  critic  of  Browning  says,  ''Be- 
lief in  a  future  life  shines  forth  from  every 
masterful  poem  he  wrote.  The  soul  of  man 
can  not  be  explained  except  in  the  light  of 
a  continuous  and  exj^anding  life." 

As  in  his  philosophy  he  deals  with  human 
life,  so  in  his  theologj*  Browning  deals  with 
the  nature  of  God.     Two  elements  predomi- 

228 


SAUL 

nate  in  God's  nature,  namely:  power  and 
love.  God's  power  is  creative.  Nature  and 
life  are  its  products.  God's  love  is  supreme. 
It  molds  and  stamps  man's  life  and  aids  him 
in  his  upward  struggle,  crowning  him  at  last 
with  an  eternal  existence. 

Having  its  foundation  thus  in  lohilosophy 
and  theology,  this  treatise  exhibits  life  in  its 
human  and  divine  relationships.  It  presents 
the  problem  of  life  as  it  concerns  God  and 
man.  In  this  presentation  there  are  several 
principles  of  life  apparent  which  should  be 
noted  for  their  practical  significance  as  well 
as  for  the  light  they  throw  on  the  interpreta- 
tion of  the  poem.  Among  these  principles 
note  the  following: 

1.  One  of  the  noblest  functions  of  life  is 
altruistic  service;  the  awakening  of  another 
life.  A  suggestive  picture  is  presented  in 
the  opening  sections  of  Saul.  David  and 
Saul  face  each  other.  Saul  is  the  despondent. 
David  is  the  awakener.  Both  are  types  of 
conditions  in  life.  Saul  is  a  type  of  a  large 
class  of  humanity  who  for  various  reasons 

229 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERItURE 

are  hopeless,  submerged  in  society,  perhaps 
lost  to  God.  They  know  nothing  of  the 
joys  of  living.  They  feed  on  despair.  They 
are  the  victims  of  evil ;  the  lost  ones.  David, 
on  the  otlier  hand,  is  a  type  of  a  class  who 
have  joy  and  hope.  They,  like  David,  have 
tasted  of  the  life  of  God.  They  ar^the'joy- 
givers  of  the  earth.  These  two  classes^exist. 
Now  the  supreme  function  of  life  is  for  the 
strong  to  bear  the  infirmities  of  the  weak; 
for  the  life-abounding  ones  to  become  the 
awakeners  of  those  who  are  hopeless  and 
helpless. 

The  selfish  life,  therefore,  is  one  not  living 
up  to  its  privileges.  David  doing  nothing  but 
enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature  in  companion- 
ship with  his  sheep,  was  merely  a  harmless 
stripling.  But  David  before  King  Saul  pour- 
ing out  his  A^ery  life  in  an  impassioned  effort 
to  awaken  another  soul,  was  a  prince  of  God. 
Lives  thatik  have  no  other  business  than  to 
exist  and  enjoy  themselves,  are  unworthy  be- 
fore God  and  man.  Not  until  we  give  our- 
selves in  the  service  of  others  do  we  come  to 

230 


SAUL 

our  best  estate.  Man's  mission  is  to  serve. 
Such  was  our  Master's  teaching.  ''As  My 
Father  hath  sent  Me,  even  so  send  I  you." 
How  was  that  sen^ling!  To  seek  and  to  save 
the  lost ;  to  awaken  hopeless  souls ;  to  arouse 
the  world's  helpless  Sauls. 

There  are  many  people  living  aimlessly 
in  life's  dark  mid-tent  to  whom  a  word  or 
act  of  kindness  would  bring  an  awakening 
that  would  cause  them  to  experience  some  of 
the  joy  of  living.  A  pathetic  lesson  is  in  the 
following  Incident  published  by  a  prominent 
periodical.  A  young  lady,  expensively 
dressed,  hurried  around  the  corner  of  a 
street  in  one  of  our  large  cities  and  accident- 
ally ran  into  a  beggar  boy,  almost  knocking 
him  off  of  his  feet.  The  lady  stopped  and 
said,  kindly:  *'I  Feg  your  pardon,  my  little 
fellow.  I  am  sorry  that  I  ran  against  you." 
The  boy  was  surprised  more  by  the  kindness 
of  the  lady  than  by  the  shock  he  had  re- 
ceived; but,  collecting  himself,  he  took  off  his 
ragged  cap,  made  a  graceful  bow,  and  said: 
''You  have  my  parding,  miss,  and  ye  're  wel- 

231 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

come  to  it.  And  say,  the  next  time  you  run 
ag'in  me,  you  can  knock  me  clean  down  and 
I  won't  say  a  word."  And  then,  after  the 
lady  had  gone  on,  he  turned  to  a  chum  and 
said,  ''Say,  Jim,  it  's  fine  to  hev'  somebody 
askin'  your  parding,  ain't  it?"  Kind  words 
and  a  considerate  act  had  brought  a  new  joy 
to  that  little  life.  Yes,  it  is  fine  to  be  the 
recipient  of  love  or  kindness.  But  there  is 
something  finer.  It  is  to  be  the  giver  of 
love  or  kindness.  Better  is  it  in  this  world 
of  need  to  be  a  singing  David  than  a  despair- 
ing Saul. 

2.  The  reflex  influence  of  altruistic  serv- 
ice is  the  birth  of  love.  Love  for  other  lives 
grows  with  service  given  other  lives.  The 
Scriptures  teach  that  where  our  treasure  is 
there  will  our  hearts  be  also.  But  it  is  just 
as  true  that  where  our  service  is  there  will 
our  love  be  also. 

It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  in  love  with  hu- 
manity. And  one  may  be  in  love  with  hu- 
manity. How?  By  serving  humanity.  x\s 
one  makes  cost  for  others,  one  comes  to  love 

232 


SAUL 

others.  As  one  lives  selfishly,  regard  for 
others  wanes.  The  secret  of  lack  of  interest 
in  others  is  selfishness.  The  reason  some 
people  have  no  love  for  men  is  they  have 
done  no  service  for  men.  One  can  only  begin 
to  understand  how  mnch  Christ  loved  men 
when  one  stops  to  consider  how  much  He  did 
for  men.  He  did  much  and  loved  much.  Fol- 
low the  missionary  for  a  day  as  he  toils 
among  the  unfortunate  people  of  a  benighted 
land,  or  the  deaconess  as  she  ministers  in  the 
city  in  the  haunts  of  the  neglected  poor,  and 
at  the  close  of  the  day  ask  what  each  has 
been  doing.  The  world  would  answer.  They 
have  been  serving  much.  But  the  real  an- 
swer is,  They  have  been  loving  much;  for 
service  ever  coins  itself  into  love,  and  they 
who  spend  much  in  service  come  back  rich 
in  love. 

3.  Love  for  life  is  a  pledge  of  immor- 
tality. Deep  in  the  soul  of  every  normal  man 
is  the  love  of  life.  For  his  life  man  will 
suffer,  toil,  and  spend.  The  last  treasure  he 
is  willing  to  surrender  is  life.    He  loves  it. 

233 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

David  loved  life  not  only  for  himself,  but  for 
Saul.  This  love  of  life  for  self  and  others 
is  a  pledge  of  immortality.  Its  argument  is 
that  if  man  the  creature  loves  life,  God  the 
Creator  loves  it  more.  And  if  man  and  God 
love  it  so,  it  can  not  be  a  transient  thing,  but 
everlasting.  God,  who  is  ever  good,  can  not 
create  such  a  love  for  the  sake  of  disappoint- 
ing it.  If  man's  love  for  life  would  immor- 
talize it,  much  more  must  God's  love  make  it 
immortal.  Faith  in  an  immortal  existence  is 
therefore  a  necessary  conclusion.  This  is  the 
faith  of  Browning.  He  expresses  his  own 
feelings  when  he  makes  David  say,  '^I  be- 
lieve it— see  the  Christ  stand."  The  Christ 
stands  in  that  faith,  declaring  Himself  the 
resurrection  and  the  life. 

4.  But  finally  the  awakened  soul  becomes 
possessed  of  new  concei)tions  of  service  and 
of  life. 

Service  In  Browning's  thought  is  meas- 
ured not  by  the  outer  deed,  but  by  the  intent 
of  the  heart.  ''What  stops  my  despair? 
This:   'tis  not  what  a  man  does  which  ex- 

234 


SAUL 

alts  him,  but  wliat  man  would  do.  See  the 
king— I  would  help  him,  but  can  not,  the 
wishes  fall  through.  Could  I  wrestle  to  raise 
him  from  sorrow,  grow  poor  to  enrich,  to  fill 
up  his  life,  starve  my  own  out,  I  would — 
knowing  which  I  Imow  that  my  service  is 
perfect."  Here  is  a  philosophy  comforting 
and  inspiring  to  those  who  yearn  much  but 
fail  often.  It  is  not  what  one  does,  but  what 
one  would  do  that  makes  commendable  serv- 
ice. If  the  heart  yearns  much  and  the  effort 
is  sincere,  the  service  is  perfect,  though  the 
results  remain  unseen. 

Life  wears  a  new  face  when  one  is  awak- 
ened from  despondency  or  from  sin.  Brown- 
ing has  described  an  old-fashioned  Christian 
experience  when  he  pictures  David  as  seeing 
a  new  face  on  all  nature  and  observing  the 
operation  of  a  new  law  everywhere.  The 
awakened  soul  gets  a  new  view  of  life.  Old 
things  pass  away,  and  all  things  become  new. 
Let  a  man  dethrone  the  evil  spirit  of  despair 
or  sin  and  get  God  into  his  life,  and  he  has 
obtained  a  new  vision,  a  new  love,  and  a  new 
hope.  235 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  LITERATURE 

Browning's  ''Saul"  is  a  sermon  on  the 
greatness  of  life  and  tlie  goodness  of  God  in 
projecting  that  life  into  eternity.  Its  prac- 
tical message  is  that  life  is  so  valuable  no 
one  has  a  right  to  sink  it  into  despair  or  mar 
it  by  sin.  Yet,  if  a  soul  becomes  lethargized, 
the  best  tonic  for  it  is  a  true  vision  of  life 
and  God.  Aroused  bv  that  vision,  the  soul 
recognizes  the  wild  joy  of  its  own  existence, 
catches  a  glimpse  of  the  divine  love  that  cre- 
ated life  with  its  joy,  and  rises  to  the  sublime 
plane  of  faith  in  the  eternal  duration  of  that 
life.  As  Browning  expresses  it,  when  this 
vision  of  life  and  God  is  seen,  man  may 
awake 

From  the  dream,  the  probation,  the  prelude,  to  find 

himself  set 
Clear  and  safe  in  new  light  and  new  life, — a  new 

harmony  yet 
To  be  run  and  continued,  and  ended — who  knows  ? — 

or  endure ! 
The  man  taught  enough  by  life's  dream,  of  the  rest 

to  make  sure ; 
By  the  pain-throb,  triumphantly  winning  intensified 

bliss, 
And  the   next  world's   reward  and   repose,    by  the 

struggles  in  this." 

236 


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